Between Two Giants
by Clevingerrr
Summary: Two years after the Great War, Europe has divided itself once more, and Deryn and Alek are tasked with the unthinkable: suppressing a Darwinist rebellion in a Clanker-controlled nation. Their world of black and white morals quickly becomes gray, and now the horrors of war have no limit to their reach. Isolated from each other and surrounded by former enemies, who can they trust?
1. In an Antique Land, pt 1

Chapter 1 

"In an Antique Land, pt.1"

**Outside of Vienna, Austria**

**June 26****th****, 1914**

Ever since the rapid militarization of Western Europe, tensions had been brewing to an all-time high between the rival Darwinist and Clanker states entrenched within their continental boundaries. While Clanker mechanics churned out one war-machine after another, Darwinist biologists scrambled to modify their own gene-spliced creations to outfight and outpace their robotic counterparts. Each respective power knew that the powder keg of Europe could be lit at any time, and that even the slightest misstep could catapult the continent into a bloody war. Military spending became the top priority of Europe's greatest and smallest powers, and every successive year's defenses were bolder and more advanced than the next. Austria-Hungary was no exception to this contemporary fact of life.

Several miles from Hofburg Palace, a once-abandoned outpost was buzzing with activity. Outwardly, it appeared to be a windowless apartment complex, with its aging white paint chipped away in numerous spots. Ivy hung loosely from its rooftop, and no apparent entrance was visible on any side. On the inside, however, each of its three stories were packed with armed personnel from Austria-Hungary's armed forces. From the most distinguished generals to the lowest NCO's, it appeared as though every soldier worth his salt was present. Maps of Europe were sprawled across every room, with conflicting plans of attack and defense scribbled across every inch of land. Any hints of color and vibrancy in the rooms were secluded by the grim feeling shared by its inhabitants: war was coming, and there was no way to stop it.

In the officer's club of the third floor, four highly-ranked men in particular were discussing the matter privately. The stools along the bar table had been knocked over, and the counter had not been cleaned or used in years. In place of the finely-crafted wooden furniture were crudely crafted metallic lookalikes, all occupied by the officers within the club. The bright yellow wallpaper had faded from years of cigar smoke and riotous barfighting, and the light overhead flickered with a low hum. A portable radio mounted on the counter broadcasted the discussions below them in a scratchy, barely-audible volume.

"…Serbia," the clean-shaved colonel muttered to his comrades. "If this disaster begins anywhere, it'll be because of those thugs in Serbia." The officer continued to rub his legs anxiously, keenly aware of the confused looks the other three were giving him. Looking up to meet their gazes, he declared, "Haven't you seen the way they're eyeing our southern borders? Like a pack of wolves waiting for the kill! They're planning something, I'm telling you…"

"Not that I question your logic, Waecther," the cigar-puffing general commented, "but Serbia is not known for its military might. They can barely keep the Russians from consuming their lands entirely!"

"Your point?" Col. Waechter fired back, rubbing his arthritis-inflamed leg. "They don't have to be the strongest power to hurt us, just gutsy enough! Like how those Americans wiped Spain off of Cuba: their armies should have been no match for an armada like Spain's, but they took chances and kicked them off Cuba!"  
The exhausted Lt. Colonel in eyeglasses stepped in between the two. "If I may?" he asked. When no response was made, he continued. "General Bierman's point is that any attack by Serbia would be suicide for them. I highly doubt they could last a few months in direct combat with Germany supporting us." Before Waecther could interject, he began again. "However, I know that desperate times can cause desperate actions in certain people. The Serbs are a smart people, but they are desperate enough to try something foolish. We might need to keep our eyes pointed at their border. Whatever our diplomacy with the Ottomans cannot do, our military strength can."

Waechter and Bierman conceded, and got back into their seats. While Waechter eagerly awaited a threat to neutralize and honors to be received, Bierman had grown exhausted of the whole affair. His eyes had seen the catastrophic effects of war firsthand too many times, and hoped he would not live to see another conflict on such a scale as the Crimean War.

"Rothschild, are you forgetting someone?" the last man in the corner jested, smoothing out his large gray moustache.

Embarrassed, the colonel turned his attention towards him. "Of-of course, Volger," he said, "how could we forget the noble count's opinion? Please, share with us your thoughts."

Getting out of his chair, Volger circled the room in a clockwork-esque manner. "Our attention for the past half-hour has been pointed towards the south and east. While Russia is a grave threat to our defenses, our greatest threats lie in the north and west. Serbia lacks the morale and manpower to directly oppose us, and Italy is a nation of cowards, to be blunt."

Col. Waechter audibly scoffed, and said, "France and Britain? What're they going to do, intimidate us out of fighting back with their tangled alliances?"

Bringing himself face-to-face with the irate colonel, Volger looked into his eyes with a grim countenance. "That is exactly what I am saying." He fished through his flamboyant Austrian noble's uniform, producing a continental map from within. On it, thin red lines were drawn all over, connecting each country by strings. "The Darwinist powers have only one factor in common: they all hate us more than they hate each other. Belgium wants protection from any chance of Clanker aggression, so they have aligned themselves with France. France has aligned itself with Serbia and Britain, which are allied with Russia and Canada and Italy, who in turn receive American and Japanese imported weapons." With a snap, he rolled up the document and returned it to its former resting place. "One false move, and we bring the wrath of every Darwinist power upon us!"

"Don't forget," Bierman added, "we have Darwinists to contend with in our own lands…" In his hands laid a flyer from the latest Alliance strike, not even a week old.

The elephant in the room had finally been addressed. In recent years, production of Stormwalkers and other armored vehicles had been halted by numerous strikes and protests – all of which were organized by a Ms. Anastasia Gottschalk, the supposed leader of the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance. Austria-Hungary was months behind schedule for its wartime production, and the empire's once-loyal citizens were beginning to give cries of dissent.

"Oh, come now!" Waechter cried, "don't act like you believe that Austrian-Darwinist nonsense!" Hobbling onto his arthritis-inflamed legs, he furiously grabbed the flyer from his superior's hands, tearing it to pieces before his very eyes. "All those pinko bastards want is to see our way of life destroyed! Especially that Gottschalk person, and her damn labor protests. If it were up to me…" his tirade was quickly interrupted by a coughing fit, throwing him off balance and back into his chair.

Rothschild gave a sigh of unease at Waechter's antics. He was often amazed that his friend got away with such insubordinate behavior and maintained his rank. "Still, though, we cannot discount the influence that woman has on the people here. Especially near the Serbian border, the common folk hail her as a liberator and freedom fighter." Eyeing Bierman, he said, "which is why you were going to negotiate some of her demands today, correct?"

"That is affirmative, Colonel. If we want to win this conflict, we need the support of our entire people. Who could do that better than her?"

"With all due respect, General," Waechter interjected, "that's some serious wishful thinking. How do we even know she'll cooperate if we give her what she wants?"

"We may never know, Colonel, and that is precisely why I wanted to meet her in person. There is no better way to gauge a person's behavior than to look them in the eye."

Volger cared little about peasant rebellions. As his father once told him, "after you see them revolt for the first time, it all becomes a predictable cycle of discontent, rebellion, and failure." He snapped his fingers impatiently, giving him the attention of the three men beside him. As far as he was concerned, border defense was a much more important matter than a woman calling herself "God's servant".

"Now that the matter of the ADA has been settled, we need to have formed some sort of plan for Austria's defense by the end of the hour." Pulling out his pocketwatch, Volger opened it for his fellow officers to see. "Emperor Franz Joseph demands that his advisors compromise on an all-encompassing plan for defending Austria's borders and launching preliminary attacks into Darwinist territory. Our idea must be presented to the Chief of Staff before sundown."

Lt. Colonel Rothschild adjusted his spectacles, and produced a stock map of Austria from his own overcoat. "To me, our best hopes of survival come from entrenching ourselves here. The Russian bear is vicious once it gets the scent of blood, and they'll come right to Serbia's aid if we so much as sneeze at them. If we can wear out Russia's offenses, we may be able to assist Germany in directly invading their lands."

"Not during the winter!" Waechter cried, "we can't invade them during the winter! Have you read anything about Napoleon? Thousands of good soldiers dead just from the weather there, and that isn't even counting the whipping the Russians gave him on the way out!"

General Bierman copied both statements in his private handbook. Col. Waecther may be overzealous, but he has shown competence and surprising intelligence when backed against a wall. "Duly noted. We may have to raid them during the springs and summers, assuming we can cripple their offensives enough."

"Our northern borders should be secured with the help of Germany," Volger commented. "Perhaps our combined strength can hold off any potential Italian and French assaults? We could later mobilize those men for counterattacks against the Darwinists. You never know what sort of stragglers and smugglers will lurk in the Alps."

"Speaking of which," Rothschild piped up, "how's that project you've been planning, Volger? Have the Alps been-"

Volger quickly cut him off and took him aside from his startled comrades. "Not here," he hissed to his old friend, "if anything goes wrong, we must not let anyone else know about the Alps. This amounts to life or death of the throne. Do you understand me?"

Taken aback and frightened by the Count's outburst, he nodded vigorously. Volger, seeing the fear in his eyes, mentally rebuked himself for his ignoble behavior. "My apologies, Rothschild, but this is a very delicate matter; years in the making, in fact. I cannot allow my investments to be squandered by such a careless mistake."

A hoarse voice called out from the other side of the room. "If you two lovebirds are done with your little dispute," Waecther said, "we need to finish this plan up right now!"

Rothschild muttered, "I understand, Volger. Just remember: you cannot expect help from me if Alek becomes a target of the Emperor. Tread lightly." Rothschild extended his scarred hand to Volger, who solemnly shook hands with the man who would most likely abandon him in his hour of need.

The two returned to the counter, where Bierman and Waechter had added more illustrations to the Austrian border. An intricate line of walker and artillery-laden defenses now encompassed Austria-Hungary, and the airfields within central Austria were guarded by miles of trenches and barbed wire. It would require more men than they currently had at bay to hold such a defense, but that wasn't a problem conscription couldn't solve.

"The idea is this: an initial line of interconnected forts, with walkers and men patrolling with ruthless efficiency." Waechter pointed behind the deeply indented line along the border. "If that falls, we rely on artillery bombardments and anti-air weaponry to buy us time and deal critical damage to the Russian attack bears and airbeasts. Our airfields will defend our major cities if necessary, but they too will be stocked with enough soldiers and equipment to survive a siege long enough for Germany to intervene." He then drew a line towards the Russian border, which had a line of its own linking it to the Serbian border. "With any luck, we can stave off the Russians until we can push them back to their own ground. We can't give an inch to those brutes. Bierman's seen them in action; he knows that they've fought off the British, French, and Ottomans all at once!"

"Hm…" Volger mumbled curiously. If he had a beard, he would be stroking it for effect. "That sounds rather feasible. We might be self-sufficient enough to accomplish such a scheme. If the Ottomans join us, it will be even easier to defeat Serbia and Russia!"

"This will work," Rothschild said. "It has to work, or we will have greater threats on our doorstep than a group of dissatisfied Darwinists…"

Suddenly, the radio's broadcast greatly increased in volume. "General Bierman!" the anxious voice on the other side announced, "you are needed in room 1A for an important discussion with a Ms.-" the sound of papers being fumbled reverberated, "Gottschalk, I believe."

Bierman nodded dimly. "Don't wait up for me, friends. Give our report to the Chief of Staff. I will deal with the agitator myself."

"Wait, you mean she's in the compound right now?" Waecther asked. "Why in the world did we even let her in? We're planning our nation's defense here, and we're just going to let her eavesdrop on every word we say?"

"Now, just a moment," Bierman responded, "I highly doubt she will interfere with or even know of our plans. All she has been told is that a high-ranking member of Austria's military wished to negotiate with her in a quiet, remote location. The first floor is nearly empty and soundproof, anyway, so I would be shocked if she actually heard anything above her. Also, she has armed escorts following her every move, and they've presumably searched her for any contraband already."

"Then, what in the world are we doing negotiating with her? That should be the governor's job! All she is a black eye to the war effort! We should just kill her now!"

The aging general merely grunted at his subordinate's rant. "I don't know about you, but I am a man of my word. If I say I will negotiate with someone, there will be no trickery involved. I have no doubts that this will be beneficial to the war effort." Handing his pocketbook over to Rothschild, he said, "I must get going. Once again, don't be late."

Lifting himself up with his cane, Bierman hefted his extra weight out of his chair, and made his way out of the officer's club. As he passed through the busy halls, every man present stood at attention and saluted him. "At ease," he ordered them, maneuvering through the ranks of inferior officers that always seemed to get in his way. Slowly, he descended the staircase at the end of the hall, going down two flights of stairs with the speed of a starved Russian fabrication. The very first door he encountered had "1A" scrawled crudely on its center, no doubt by the occupying Austrian personnel there. He opened the door, bracing himself for whatever trials awaited him.

Room 1A was much neater and considerably more presentable than any of the other sections he had seen so far. The walls were neatly painted with a fresh coat of white paint, which still gave off a slight odor. The fixtures inside were all high-quality, and overhead light was newly repaired with durable, miniaturized Tesla Coils. Inside, five armed guards stood at the edges of the room, all evenly spaced from the clean, orderly table placed in the center. Rows of chairs were positioned along the table, all of which were unoccupied – except for one.

Sitting on the left center of the table was a discontented woman, with a look of scorn frozen on her face. From her jaw to her lower left eyelid were several connected burn scars, and a noticeable gash ran down her right eye. Her almost fragile build was covered by a patchwork overcoat, with pieces of Russian, Serbian, and Austrian uniforms sown together. She couldn't have been much older than thirty, judging by her appearance and temperament. She had been tapping the hardwood of the table impatiently before the General arrived, and immediately stopped once he had fully entered the room.

Bierman cleared his throat. "Anastasia Gottschalk, I presume?" he asked, unsure what to make of the woman in front of him. Could this underwhelming figure truly be the cause of the numerous protests and hunger strikes plaguing Austria-Hungary for the past few years?

"That's right," she replied, her voice sounding scratchy and somewhat timid. "I'm guessing you're the patsy the Emperor wants me to talk with? Everything we want is listed on these papers-" pushing the small stack of paperwork in front of her towards him, "-and we're not going to grovel to you techno-fascists unless every one is agreed to."

Bierman's eyes narrowed a bit. "Hmph, 'patsy'. 'Techno-fascists'…don't push me, girl. I want a peaceful solution as much as you do, but many of my superiors would like to see you at the end of a rope. I'm the only one here who wants to give you a square deal." Lighting up his antique pipe, he continued. "Now, let's take a look at these…demands of yours."

Silently, Anastasia rubbed her hands together under the table. This could only end two ways, and the idea of a 50-50 chance of survival didn't appeal to her. Although she would normally be confident in a negotiation, an inescapable feeling of anxiety surrounded her. She was expecting for this meeting to happen in a bright room with plenty of windows and exits, not some run-down house outside of the capital.

"'We, the undersigned members of the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance, present our grievances to the authority of Austria-Hungary's leaders, in hopes that expanded rights for non-Clanker citizens may be obtained. This includes…the admittance of known Darwinists into Austria-Hungary's military as fully-trained combatants…the removal of excessive taxes on Darwinist households…" Bierman nodded with a feeling of relief. Perhaps the demands would be much less extreme than he anticipated? "The re-opening of trade with Serbia…the legalization of Darwinist imports and goods into Austrian territory…"

He casually sat the papers down and addressed Anastasia. "Well, these seem rather feasible, if I do say so myself. It may require some extensive rewriting of regulations, but it may be possible for Darwinists to serve in our army. Provided, of course, that they familiarize themselves with Clanker technology."

"I appreciate your support of our ideals, General. If our demands are granted, you can expect a halt to our strikes and protests." She knew better than to celebrate now, though. The tougher demands were only a few lines away, and it would be much more difficult to win even the most moderate Clanker over to support them.

Quickly finding his last read section, Bierman continued reading. "The end to hostilities with Russia and Serbia…you are aware that they've rejected our diplomacy, correct?" When she gave no response, he shrugged it off and continued reading. "The total conversion of all state-supplied farm equipment from mechanical implements to fabrications…the banning of German imported goods into Austrian territory…are you mad? Do you want our economy to collapse?"

"I've worked on Darwinist farms in the past. You'll find that their fabrications are much more efficient than your soulless machinery." Anastasia paused for a moment, possibly for effect, or perhaps drawing from a painful memory. "That is, if there are any independent farms owned by Darwinists anymore…" she added, a sense of anguish and resentment present in her voice.

Ignoring her comment, the general moved on. "The elimination of the Austrian aristocracy, and public military tribunals for any known perpetrators of the Prague Massacre of 1903...but they provoked us into firing upon them! How is it a Massacre if a military parade is bombed by terrorists?" Again, silence. "The granting of full amnesty to all known Darwinist dissenters, including the fearless and noble members of the Black Hand and Young Bosnia movement currently imprisoned…"

A tense silence followed. When Anastasia looked up, Bierman was glaring at her. "You want us to forgive known terrorists just because they agree with you? Are you mad?"

"I'd hardly call a band of freedom fighters struggling for interests of your people 'terrorists', _herr General_."

"They throw bombs into crowded streets and assassinate local governors!" Bierman's normally stoic exterior was starting to fade from sheer disgust. "How is that 'noble' or heroic? They're nothing more than cowards hiding behind civilians!"

Anastasia slammed both of her hands on the table, shouting, "And arresting and torturing people for not wanting to use your mechanics isn't cowardly? How about the raids on Darwinist intellectuals you bastards have been doing these past few years?!" Her voice quivered with raw emotion as she continued, "How about my family, or my friends, or my _face_? Do you think I was _born _like this? While you and your privileged friends live life on the backs of your people, we're being _torn apart by you desensitized pricks_!" her voice elevating to a shriek all the while.

Bierman, both outraged by her rant and shocked at the sudden outpouring of emotion, remained silent in the face of her anger. Anastasia's breaths were heavy and frequent, and forced her to sit down and regain her composure.

Knowing what was in store for him, Bierman skimmed the remaining pages of the grievance list, describing every few demands. "Expulsion of German diplomats from Austria-Hungary, the removal of Emperor Franz Joseph from the throne, the institution of a Darwinist-operated democratic government, the disarmament of Clanker militant groups…" Having now understood her wishes to the fullest extent, he slid the papers back to Anastasia. "I can only offer equal representation and taxation of Darwinists to your 'Alliance'. Everything else is out of the question, both for the Austrian Armed Forces and for its aristocracy."

"I didn't come here for a partial solution, General. You can either meet all of our demands, or none of them." Her hands balled into fists beneath the table, attempting to keep her explosive temper in check.

"If that's what you really want," he replied, exasperated at her stubborn stance on the issue, "I'll be leaving to attend to other matters. I would be more than willing to compromise with you on this, however."

"We've tried compromising in the past, but your people consistently take advantage of us at every turn. You're just another worthless cog in the Clanker bureaucracy, you know that?"

Just then, she felt a rough hand grab her by the shoulder. "Men, please escort Ms. Gottschalk from the premises," Gen. Bierman ordered.

Before any of the room's other occupants could react, Anastasia produced what appeared to be a flare-like grenade from her patchwork overcoat, and pulled the pin in full view of everyone. A blinding flash struck the Austrian soldiers, followed by a deafening explosion of sound. The armed escorts flailed around the room, desperately trying to stabilize themselves from the assault, all while General Bierman struggled to call out for help. All six Clankers in the room were completely oblivious to the unaffected woman inside, who had closed her eyes prior to the blast.

Taking a bayonet from one of the confused guards on the floor, Anastasia impatiently knocked the table aside, facing the blinded general with her hate-filled eyes. Grabbing him roughly by his hair, she plunged the bayonet into his throat once, causing a river of blood to flow from his neck all while futilely crying for help. With the determination of a madman, she stabbed it once more into his carotid artery, then his chest, and his stomach. Releasing the pent-up hatred her feeble exterior had sheltered, she continued stabbing the now-deceased general in his torso, her eyes wild with previously unheard of ferocity. By the time she had stopped, her coat and arms were soaked in the blood of her victim, and Bierman's torso appeared brutally dismembered.

Almost in horror of her own actions, Anastasia dropped the knife on the ground, right beside the now-recovering guards. She nervously dropped her own coat, and donned the late general's uniform in place of it. Had she really murdered a brigadier general in his own outpost? It seemed like an out-of-body experience when she confronted him. And yet, it felt so satisfying…

"What the hell is going on down there?" a voice cried from the stairwell. "If any of you lot are fighting each other, it'll be solitary for everyone involved!" The sound of heavy steps descended down the stairwell, and Anastasia's heart skipped a beat. Frantically, she sprinted out the exit tunnel, leaving the gruesome evidence of her crime behind. Now, there was no other option but armed resistance for her cause. If the Clankers found her, they'd take her head for such a treasonous move.

"Don't you dare run from me!" Col. Waechter cried, hobbling downstairs as fast as his crippled legs could take him. "I know every grunts' name that's guarding this base! You won't be able to hide behind your…comrades…"

In front of Waechter was what was left of the peace process. General Bierman had numerous stab wounds along his body, and an ever-growing puddle of blood surrounded his corpse. The men around him had just began to regain their sight, and were taken aback at the sight they now beheld.

"General!" the colonel cried out, running to the body of his former friend and stopping himself short of trying to shake him awake. There was no way to help him or revive him: whoever did the job ended him ruthlessly and violently, with no restraint or compassion for a fellow man. "What happened here?!" he demanded of the escorts.

Reluctantly and fearfully, a pale-faced corporal stood in attention at the colonel's orders. "Sir-sir!" he replied, desperately trying to keep his voice steady and his breathing regular, "we were about to take Ms. Gottschalk out of the premises, and I…she…I don't know!"

"What do you mean, 'you don't know?' Speak up, corporal! You could be court-martialed for letting this happen under your watch!"

"I really don't know, sir!" the corporal said, trying to ignore the lump developing in his throat. "There was this flash of light, and we couldn't see or hear anything! I couldn't even tell if I was on solid ground for the first minute! When we came to, she was gone, and the general had been cut open!"

"Jesus H. Christ…" Waechter muttered, looking at the chaos that laid before him. "Send orders to all perimeter guards: do not let that traitor escape! Their new orders are to shoot any unauthorized visitors on sight, including her! The rest of you, get upstairs and warn the men about the situation!"

Clutching his burning throat, the corporal vomited in the back of the room. His fellow squadmates rushed out to deliver the news, now fearful for their own safety. With nothing else to do, Waechter pulled up a chair from the fallen table and sat down, holding his face in his hands. He felt as though the weight of the world had just landed on his back, crushing any hopes of a positive future in the process.

A mere two days after the incident, Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife died from a poisoning, with the culprits believed to be Serbian nationalists. The search team assembled to track down Anastasia Gottschalk and her associates was recalled, and were instead told to hunt down the perpetrators of the 28th's assassination. To the Austrian bureaucracy, the life of an Archduke was worth much more than a mere brigadier general. While their manhunt for Ferdinand's killers proved successful, Gottschalk eluded their grasp. Every potential lead turned up false or a dead-end, and even the most carefully-planned sting operations were unable to bring her out into the open.

The Black Hand was eliminated from Austrian soil by mid-1914. Confident that the terrorist threat was ended, Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia for its apparent involvement, sending Europe spiraling into a global conflict. Under their noses, however, the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance swelled in numbers and strength, until it became apparent that they were more than a mere group of labor agitators…


	2. A Delicate Matter

Chapter 2

"A Delicate Matter"

**Zoological Society of London, British Empire**

**November 28****th****, 1916**

Within a year, the "War to End all Wars" had ground to a halt, leaving a battered and disorientated Europe to piece together a solution to the conflict. With the crumbling Ottoman Empire now controlled by the neutral Committee of Union and Progress, the empire of Austria-Hungary split in half, and the German army surrounded on all sides, only a hastily-made surrender saved the Clanker nations from destruction. The Allies patted themselves on the back for their hard-won victory, and promptly dumped a number of costly reparation fees on the defeated Central Powers. While Darwinism prospered, the Clankers faced an insurmountable debt and an economic depression.

No group benefited from this sudden victory than the Zoological Society of London. Engorged with the blood money of the Central Powers, the group expanded its efforts to usurp its mechanical rivals in all fields, hiring dozens of new technicians and fabricators to fuel their research. No longer held back by wartime restrictions, the Society let their boffins run wild, exploring every nook and cranny of fabrication to gain a possible edge.

And Deryn Sharp had the luck to be paired with the most erratic one.

"Come on, Mr. Sharp!" Dr. Schmidt shouted from across the firing range, "they're just bees! Aside from the possibility of getting stung and poisoned, you're in no danger!"

For the past hour, Deryn had been handling prototype fabrications designed specifically to solve problems plaguing British infantry in the previous war, with each beastie getting progressively more ludicrous. It started with "organic radio wave receiver" and had gone to such lengths as "shoulder-stationed fire-breathing salamander." Currently, she was on "wrist-mounted Africanized Honeybee launcher".

Deryn had handled bees aboard the Leviathan with no issues. However, they were strictly bred for their productivity and inability to defend themselves, as opposed to the infamous "killer bees" spawning from the prototype.

"Oh, clart," she muttered, "I'm in over my head…"

"What was that?" the doctor called out. "I couldn't quite hear that!"

Nervously, she edged towards the fabrication. "Sorry! I just said I was going to start the test!" It was either that, or forfeit the hazard pay she was promised.

On the collapsible table beside her lay an unusual fusion of organic and mechanical material, presumably created by Schmidt himself. The device appeared to be a small beehive, laced with exposed wires connecting the trigger mechanism underneath to the pneumatic air tube on the front. A wrist strap dangled loosely from the bottom of the launcher, and numerous bees crawled around the circumference of it.

"Shouldn't there be a hand guard or something on this?" Deryn asked, audibly concerned about the obvious hazards of the test.

Dr. Schmidt looked up from his clipboard, completely unaware of Deryn's plight. "Wait, why would I put that on it?"

"Well, it's just…I mean…_bees_. They're swarming all over the place! What if they decide they don't like getting shot out of this thing? They could turn on me at a moment's notice!"

"Oh, that's not a problem! They're mindless creatures; they can't even hold grudges in the first place! I don't even think they can tell friend from foe!"

Deryn quickly stepped back from the device, just as the doctor realized the implications of his statement. "Okay, maybe you have a point," he admitted. "_Maybe_. I'll try to alter their mental algorithms for the second trial run."

Her fears were finally alleviated. "Thank you very much, doctor!" she shouted, her voice unintentionally slipping into its naturally higher cadence. Almost immediately, she covered her mouth in shock of the obvious mistake.

"God, Sharp, you'll never command any respect with a voice like that. How'd you even get to Sub-Lieutenant with that kind of tone? It's almost feminine!" Dr. Schmidt said, approaching her from his improvised desk. For a moment, she was fearful that he had caught on to her actual gender.

"Look," he commented, "we all have voice cracks from time to time, but yours are the worst I've ever heard. No offense, of course."

Luckily for Deryn, he was even more oblivious to her slip-ups than the _Leviathan_'s crew. "But I've only known you for an hour and a half!"

"I'm well aware of that, but my point holds. You have to enunciate, dig deep, speak with a baritone, that sort of thing!" Dr. Schmidt leaned in closer. "The last thing you want is for people to be getting…ideas about your sex," he whispered. "It could ruin your reputation. I had the same issue back when I first joined the Society. Never lived it down."

Before Deryn could even respond, a message lizard dropped from the ventilation shafts overhead onto the table, stirring up the bees around the device. "Message for Mr. Deryn Sharp," it said, attempting to crawl away from the growing swarm.

"Play back." At this point, Deryn was eager to leave. She'd had enough of the daft boffin and his absentminded creations.

The message lizard slipped under the table, clearing its vocal chords to mimic the speech of its prior user. "Mr. Sharp," a collected female voice began, "I have need of you in my quarters for a potential new assignment." She quickly recognized the speaker as Dr. Barlow, the organizer of the _Leviathan_'s voyage to Turkey, and her current employer. "This is a very delicate matter, so don't dally. Count Volger are already waiting here for you, and Alek is on his way as I speak." The fabrication attempted to conclude its message, however, the growing swarm of genetically-modified bees promptly surrounded it and began stinging it to death. Weakly, it croaked out an "immediately" before getting dealt the killing blow.

Both Deryn and the boffin eased their way to the opposite side of the room. "You might want to go now," Schmidt whispered to her, reaching for the living flamethrower prototype.

Wasting no time, Deryn sprinted out of the firing range and up the stairs into the living quarters of the Society.

If there was one distinctive factor to the Zoological Society's architecture, it was the grand scale of everything. They had clawed their way up from a negatively-viewed cult-like entity to a critical component of Britain's industrial complex, and their lavishly-decorated headquarters served as a means to illustrate their vast wealth and influence on the monarchy. Any section of the building deemed non-classified was constructed on a massive scale, with towering ceilings stretching up hundreds of feet above the ground, carefully-polished and garish-looking chandeliers illuminated by stationary glow worms, and finely-crafted mahogany furniture scattered around the upper levels. Flanking the public entrance to the Society was a large marble statue of Darwin himself, holding a flaming saber towards the heavens as artificial lights surrounding the monument constantly illuminated his figure. To put it lightly, the members of the Zoological Society were keen on displaying their power to the world at large.

To Deryn, who was ducking and weaving through an authorized school tour of the place, the display was a wee bit excessive. It certainly made you feel like a person of significance, sure, but it was almost hard to look at the wastefulness.

"Pardon me, lass," she said, stepping around the last middle-schooler in her way. It probably didn't help that she came from a rather poor family, or that she was still relatively new to the Society. But, even Dr. Barlow thought it was a bit daft to require a portrait of Darwin in every room, and she was his own bleeding granddaughter!

After a considerable amount of running, Deryn reached the lifts. Normally, the stairs would work just as well, but she was probably running late as it is. Impatiently, she pressed the number "3" several times, hoping to speed up the elevator's arrival. However, the "current floor" light failed to change after nearly a minute of waiting, causing an exasperated Deryn to start pressing the other remaining keys.

"It's broken, I'm afraid," a familiar Germanic voice called out from behind her. Deryn turned around to find none other than Alek Ferdinand himself, wearing a grease-soaked Zoological Society engineer jumpsuit.

Deryn felt her heart skip a beat.

"Alek! What are you doing here? I thought you were upstairs with-"

"Barlow and Volger? I should be, but I got a bit sidetracked," he said, pointing towards the out-of-service lift beside them. "I was ordered to get this up-and-running by the top of the hour."

"I'm guessing that didn't end well?" she asked cheekily.

Alek nodded. "Apparently, there aren't that many people around here who have experience with machinery. I was the only one working in the elevator shaft the entire time! Unless, of course, you count the glow worms." He shuddered at the sight of those wretched creatures slithering along the walls, basking the cramped space in their unearthly green light.

Deryn couldn't help but laugh. "Two years in the service, and you're shaken up by them? I don't think I'll ever make a proper Darwinist out of you, Alek!" On his first day working for the Society, Alek promptly removed every fabricated utility from his room, replacing them with improvised devices he would create in his spare time. When Deryn found out, he became the source of ribbing and light-hearted jabs for the following weeks to come.

"Just-look," he began, trying to hide his embarrassment, "I know that everything here has to be organic-"

"-Except for the lifts, apparently-"

"-Yes, except for the lifts, but there's a point where it gets excessive. Think about it: do you really want your lights or heating to be able to have minds of their own? I just can't sleep knowing that there might be something watching me or memorizing everything I've said!"

Admittedly, Alek had a point, even if it was a rather paranoid one. "Aye, but it's best not to look at it that way. I doubt they can even understand English, anyway."

"I certainly hope not…" he muttered, just as the central clock of the Society chimed four times for the top of the hour. "_Verdammt_, we're late. Let's just take the stairs."

"After you, my ex-princeliness," Deryn said, giving a mock bow.

The two began ascending the ornate, circular staircase to the living quarters above, each step creaking under their feet. Deryn's thoughts quickly soon off to the situation at hand for much more personal matters. More specifically, to the daft yet quick-minded and rather handsome Clanker that had become an inseparable part of her life.

"I can't believe I met Alek only two years ago," she thought to herself. "It feels like I've known him all my life. He was so stubborn, so naïve when I first saw him…" The tense standoff between the two in the Alps was still fresh in her mind. "But now…he's different. Still a _dummkopf_ when he's wrong, but he's almost used to being a Darwinist now." Her gaze drifted up to his clean-shaven face, still as welcoming and friendly as it seemed when they first opened up to each other. "Those two years certainly didn't hurt his looks, either. I can't believe I'm still taller than him, though. Those months on the _Leviathan_ really shaped him up."

A pang of regret flittered through her subconscious at the mere mention of that word. To her, the _Leviathan_ signified her greatest contributions to the British Empire, all while under the threat of exposure as a girl. The day she finally had to leave the service for Barlow's safer job at the Zoological Society was grim for both her and Alek.

"It didn't help that I was bawling like some skirt-wearing ninny all night," she mused. In a rare moment of weakness for her, she asked Alek to stay beside her for the first night, clinging to the one connection to her past. "I miss being in the air. There was so much excitement, such danger! It felt like a real home." Compared to aiding a Turkish revolution and holding off an attack on a massive energy weapon, working at the Society seemed like she was barely contributing anything to her country.

Deep down, though, she knew that it was the best option for her. Getting outed as a woman would only be a minor scandal in the Zoological Society; in the Air Service, she would get court-martialed for violating a clearly-stated regulation in the recruitment waivers. Even though her missions were smaller in scale, she knew that even the tiniest bit of help could tip the scales in Britain's favor. She certainly hadn't gotten softer, either: the self-imposed conditioning for assignments abroad coupled with the two years of growth had caused her to mature into a strong, determined woman.

When they had reached the third floor, Deryn felt a sharp pain in her chest, knocking her off-balance and forcing her to catch her balance on the handrail. Hearing her grunt of pain, Alek ran to her side.

"What happened? Are you alright?" he asked, visibly concerned for his best friend's health.

Deryn rapidly regained her breath. Speaking of maturing into a woman… "I'm fine. It's just…you know," she said, making a "wrapping" motion around her chest.

Alek's face flushed once more. "Oh. I'll, um, keep an eye out for you."

When she was sure the coast was clear, she slipped her arms into her uniform, reaching for the bindings around her modestly-sized chest, and loosening them just enough to give her more breathing room. When she was on the _Leviathan_, she was just starting to develop around there, making constrictions a non-issue for the most part. However, as time caught up to her, her "diddies" became more prominent than before, forcing Deryn to experiment with tightness levels in order to avoid any suspicion.

With a snap, she finished messing with her bindings, and tapped Alek on the shoulder. "You can look this way now, Alek," she said.

"Just trying to give you some modesty, _Dylan." _The two resumed walking through the hall in search of their employer.

"Aye, and I do appreciate it! It's just a tad bit obnoxious at times." His respect for women and insistence on modesty could almost border on celibacy if left unchecked. Nothing that a quick snogging couldn't change, of course.

"You make that sound like a crime! What, would you rather have me act lecherous and rude?"

"Honestly, I can't imagine you _being _any other way. Polite, I mean. Not like a pervert."

"Speaking of being polite and respectful," he added, tugging on his dirty jumpsuit, "I should've thought to change clothes before this. What if Dr. Barlow goes into conniptions when I get grime all over her office?"

They soon stopped upon reaching the door with the brass marker labeled "Barlow, Nora."

"It's a little late for that," she said. "Just try not to sit down or get near the walls. In fact, just don't touch anything."

With a turn of the doorknob, Deryn and Alek stepped into the confines of Dr. Barlow's personal office.


	3. Silent Partnership

**Hello, everyone! I never included any author comments or clarification in the previous chapters, so here we go.**

**First of all, I'd like to establish the update schedule: if all goes according to plan, expect a new chapter once every week to two weeks. If I lose track of the quota, I'll try to get back on it.**

**Second, the time period deserves some mention. Most of the story will take place in late 1916 to 1917. There will be chapters taking place in the past, but those will be self-contained and serve to establish plot points/character traits. The events of _Leviathan, Behemoth, _and _Goliath _will be referenced periodically.**

**Third of all, yes, this story will have quite a few OC's. I am taking painstaking measures to ensure that they will be unique, will contribute to the story, and will avoid becoming blatant self-inserts.**

**Lastly, any and all reviews are greatly appreciated. I'm open to constructive criticism, so feel free to share your thoughts in the review box below.**

**With all of that in mind, enjoy the third chapter of _Between Two Giants_!**

* * *

Chapter 3

"Silent Partnership"

**Zoological Society of London, British Empire**

**November 28****th****, 1916**

"Well, it certainly took the two of you long enough to arrive," Dr. Barlow said. "Come in; we have much to discuss and not much time to do so."

Deryn's first memories of Dr. Barlow involved her sudden takeover of the _Leviathan_ under orders from London, and how the entire crew got involved in a convoluted conspiracy in the Ottoman Empire involving a perspicuous loris and at least one kraken. Needless to say, she had a great deal of authority at her disposal, and was never afraid to exercise it around complete strangers.

"I said come in! Don't stand there!"

Not wanting to hold up the meeting any longer, Deryn and Alek took their seats in front of the lady boffin's desk. Unlike the rest of the Zoological Society, Dr. Barlow's office was rather modest and plain. The only furniture in the moderately-sized room were four wooden chairs and an oak desk covered with unfinished paperwork. To the immediate right of Barlow sat Count Volger, his eyes fixated on Alek with a look of concern.

Turning to face Alek and Deryn, Dr. Barlow began speaking. "I will need your utmost attention for the next five minutes. This is a matter concerning - pardon me a moment," she asked spontaneously, "but why are you covered in oil, Aleksander?"

"It's actually grease, doctor, and I was repairing the central elevator in the lobby. Or, _attempting_ to repair it. Speaking of which, why do you have a mechanical lift in a place like this?"

"In all honesty? We've been unable to create anything better for the past few years," she admitted. "Organic life can be molded into so much, but there are limitations to every sort of material. It was much simpler to just hire a machinist to build that contraption here. The only problem is that very few of us actually understand how to maintain it, myself included. Which is why you," she pointed to Alek's grease-stained clothing, "have been getting more odd jobs than the rest of us. Nothing personal, of course."

"Actually, that makes me feel much better!" he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I had thought the Zoological Society still didn't trust me."

Barlow couldn't suppress a smirk. Truth be told, her associates still had little to no trust in Alek, despite his crucial contributions to them both during the war and after. Her attempts to convince them of his worth were typically met with jingoistic reminders that "those damn Clankers killed my brother/son/father/wife/distant relative! Why should I trust a Clanker, let alone a bleeding Clanker _prince_?"

"Oh, of course they trust you now!" Barlow gleefully said. "The English take pride in our tolerance and love of other cultures and nations, even if they disagree with us."

Deryn opened her mouth, intending to bring up the Scottish Wars of Independence or the troubles in Ireland, but remembered who her current audience was. Best not to talk about ethnic struggles with a proud Englishwoman.

"Is there something you wanted to add, Mr. Sharp?"

"Oh, it was nothing really!" Deryn responded, trying to deflect attention away from herself. "Just…well, is that why radios aren't allowed in the Zoological Society?"

"Unfortunately, yes. We're very strict about maintaining an all-natural environment here, barring the necessary mechanical lift. Although I recognize the vast potential radio has, some of my colleagues are, shall I say, blinded by pride. That blasted Lord Kelvin," she muttered with a scoff. "'Radio has no future,' he says. Meanwhile, the Germans were sending orders back and forth faster than we could even write them!"

"Just a minute," Alek piped in, "don't you have a ham radio stashed away in here somewhere? I could have sworn you were using one several days back!"

Dr. Barlow's smile dropped. "For your own sake, Aleksander, I wouldn't say that too loudly." Running her hands through the mess of papers, she quickly pulled three specific pieces from the rest. "In any case, I'm afraid that we're deviating from the issue at hand."

"Some sort of assignment for us, right?" Deryn asked.

"That's correct." Placing her bowler hat on the table, she anxiously straightened out her hair. "However, this is a much more volatile situation than what you might be used to. Although you both have been through some harrowing experiences in the past, this is a different matter entirely."

Alek immediately spoke up. "I'd hate to be the Doubting Thomas here, Dr. Barlow, but what could be make this job so much worse than what we've already been through? Deryn and I already helped overthrow a tyrant and ward off a German task force as it is. What else could be worse than that?"

Dr. Barlow shifted uncomfortably in her seat, reluctant to break the news to either of them. "Full-scale civil war," she eventually said.

Alek's heart leaped into his throat. There was only one widespread civil war going on within their area of operation – and that was…

"Austria?" he weakly asked.

Barlow nodded. "It's a mystery to us all how it's lasted this long, or how the rebels have even managed to take control of so much territory. I hadn't expected it to last half a year, but it's still going strong two years later…"

Being the one person in the group with the least understanding of Central European politics, Deryn felt out-of-the-loop. "I'm a wee bit lost here. I know there's some sort of war going on in Austria, but what's exactly happening?"

For the first time, Volger spoke up. "If I may, Nora?"

"By all means, Count. This is your homeland we're speaking about, after all." Casually, she passed off the documents to Volger.

"Very well." He cleared his throat with a deep cough, and addressed Deryn. "Austria has been in a rather inconvenient position since the rival technologies of Europe began creating tension. It has always been a machine-oriented nation at heart, but it is also directly influenced by its neighbors. To the north lies Germany, its overbearing benefactor and Clanker ally, while in the South and East are Serbia and Russia, which you are already acquainted with. We thought that this war would be an easy victory, that the people would rally behind our cause and vanquish our Darwinist foes!" It was clear that Volger still held some pride for his homeland of Austria, even though they had sold him and Alek out to the Germans. It seemed a bit daft to Deryn, but it was best to bite her tongue for now.

"And I'm guessing they didn't? But why not?" Deryn asked curiously.

"A number of reasons," he answered, getting out of his chair and pacing back and forth across the room. "We had been, shall I say, "mistreating" some of our citizens. Primarily Darwinist sympathizers and anarchists, but later on it encompassed all non-Clanker citizens. While Austria barely held off Russia's offensives into its lands, it had an even greater struggle invading Serbia. Not only was Serbia well-defended, but they always seemed to know when Austria was going to attack. Almost as if they had agents on our side of the border."

"What makes you think the informers were Austrian?"

"I didn't _think _they were Austrian, Sharp, I _knew_. Soon enough, they were finding Austrian irregulars among the Serbian forces; defectors from the local civilian population, even during the failed siege of Belgrade. Supporters of this woman," he handed Deryn a blurry photograph, "to be exact."

The woman pictured had noticeable facial scarring and a seemingly inexhaustible look to her; presumably, she was in her mid-thirties. She appeared to be discussing some matter with a man who was partially out of the border. Judging by her facial expressions, she probably wasn't aware of the photo being taken.

"Anastasia Gottschalk," Volger continued, "leader of the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance, ardent Luddite, and 'champion of the oppressed.' Before the war, we attempted to negotiate with her over the strikes and organized boycotts that were plaguing our production efforts. Needless to say, it didn't turn out as we had planned. She murdered one of our top commanders, escaped into hiding, and rallied the Darwinist sympathizers behind her. It was around this time that Alek and I fled to the Alps," he commented, as Alek continued to remain silent. "They frequently ambushed the Austrian military during their retreat to the border, and eventually began a campaign to push their loyalist countrymen north. It goes without saying that they have been successful."

"However," Dr. Barlow added, "their tactics are unusual for a revolutionary group, even if they are well-numbered. Guerilla warfare and hit-and-run methods have been employed by them, but their reclamation of Tyrol was a mix of urban warfare, shock and awe tactics, and black propaganda. It was too well-organized for a single woman to think up, even one as crafty as Ms. Gottschalk."

"Which is why I have reason to believe this man is involved," he said, pushing the second photo towards Deryn. Unlike the previous picture, this appeared to be an official military portrait. The subject was a black-haired man wearing a well-decorated officer's uniform from an unidentifiable army. His face betrayed no signs of emotion as he stared into the camera, and his arms were crossed along his chest. To Deryn, he seemed to be an unimpressive sight.

"Who is he?"

"He's an interloper, someone who doesn't belong in the equation. An ex-Serbian officer who reportedly came into contact with Anastasia and her rebels, named Lehmann. Most likely, he has been organizing the Darwinists into an efficient fighting force. Not much else is known so far, I'm afraid."

So, rebellions, a mess of alliances causing havoc, and now international involvement in a civil war. Deryn finally understood the enormity of the situation. "Alright, I think I'm up to speed now," she said, internally grateful that the drawn-out exposition could stop. "So, what you need is for Alek and I to go to Austria and assist this – who was it again, Gottschalk? Help out some Darwinists in need?"

She could almost feel Volger burning a metaphorical hole in her head with his glare. Dr. Barlow was the first to speak up. "As I said, this is a much different matter than what you're used to."

"Well, there can't be too much of a difference between helping Turkish rebels and Austrian rebels, right..."

Suddenly, the realization hit her like a gale force wind.

"…You want us to stop the rebellion, don't you?"

Barlow gave her an affirmative nod, and handed her the final photograph. Four men in traditional Clanker overcoats were sitting around a smoky room, appearing to be embroiled in a fierce debate. On the bottom right hand corner lay a note – "Austrian Defense Preparations, 1914. Waechter, Rothschild, Bierman, and Wildcount Volger pictured."

"Lt. General Rothschild and Colonel Waechter are high-ranking officers in the Republic of German Austria's armed forces. You will be working with them to put an end to this conflict and push all Darwinist influence out of Austria. I will be indirectly aiding you along the way, but I will need you both to not mention me by name. For all intents and purposes, I will be your silent partner."

Deryn wasn't sure what was more shocking: the fact that she was being ordered to defeat a Darwinist group, or that _Dr. Barlow _of all people was commanding her to do so. Her patronizing and skeptical treatment of Tesla for his designs certainly made her seem less willing to work with Clankers than Deryn had thought, and now she wanted to intervene on their behalf?

"Blisters," she muttered, dazed at the surrealistic turn of events in the meeting so far. "Not trying to be rude here, doctor, but why are you just sending Alek and I on this one? Wouldn't someone like Captain Hobbes do a better job of strategizing with those people?"

"Ordinarily, I would call on one of our tacticians for a task like this." Barlow let out an exasperated sigh. "However, supporters of Austria are few and far between here. I had a difficult time just convincing people to listen to my reasoning! Believe me, I haven't suddenly warmed up to the Central Powers, but there will be dire consequences if this conflict escalates any further."

"Another European powder keg, to be exact," Volger chimed in, "only, this time, the Darwinists will be driven by vengeance rather than glory. If left to their devices, I fear that the loss of life on both sides may be catastrophic."

As if there wasn't enough pressure on her already. Now, they had to stop _another_ Great War from happening? "So, why the Clankers and not the Darwinists? To me, it sounds like they have every reason to be angry with their leaders! Shouldn't we be helping them out instead?" Deryn hoped that she wasn't offending Alek or, to a much lesser extent, Volger, with her outbursts.

"I realize this a confusing matter, Mr. Sharp, but this is a very…unique…situation Austria is in. Much of Europe is still bitter over the Great War, and won't hesitate to avenge their fallen heroes with the blood of Clankers. Austria's leaders may have a number of faults, but I can tell that it won't be any better under Gottschalk. Austria needs to appear powerful enough to deter an invasion. The Russian Empire has reportedly taken an interest in the conflict, and it's no secret that Serbia is supporting the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance. If they capitulate to the rebels, there will only be one predominantly Clanker nation left in Europe, and I wouldn't be surprised if we see an unprovoked invasion of Germany if Austria is defeated. The entire balance of power will be thrown off, and we may see an end to an entire way of life!"

"In addition, Russia is looking for an excuse to directly intervene," Volger added. "In recent years, they have been dealing with dissenters of their own. If they can rally their people behind an easy and victorious war, then perhaps they can be distracted from their societal and economic problems."

The entire prospect made Deryn feel uneasy. Everything was so simple during the war: if they fabricated, they were allies; if they constructed, they were enemies. Ever since her postwar missions with Alek, the lines between ally and enemy were becoming blurred.  
"Deryn, Alek," Dr. Barlow said in a reassuring tone, "I wouldn't have assigned you this if I thought you were going to fail. You both have been through so much together in the past couple years, and I promise this will go smoothly."

Finally breaking his silence, Alek looked up at his employer. "When do we head off?" he asked, almost sounding fearful.

"The 30th, actually. Volger will accompany you both, as he is the most acquainted with Austria's military experts. Do I need to clarify any other details?"

At this point, Deryn wasn't sure if any of her questions would help, or just create more confusion. The safest option was to remain silent.

"Very well. Pack lightly, and maintain a low profile until you arrive in Austria. You'll be pleased to know that the _Leviathan_ will be your escort until you come into contact with the Austrian military. At that point, you'll be on your own."

At the mere mention of the word "Leviathan", some of her uneasiness faded away. At least there were some certainties in life one could count on.

"With that in mind, shove off for the next couple days. You both have been working hard, and I need you as mentally prepared for this as possible." Dr. Barlow gave a salute, and began shuffling through the paper-laden mess on her desk. "Dismissed," she added, before resuming her attempt at organizing several weeks' worth of paperwork.

Alek's uncharacteristic silence worried Deryn more than anything. "Hey Alek," she began, "mind if I talk with you for a moment?"

No one responded. Alek's seat had been empty.

Volger casually strolled to the doorway. "If I were you, _Mr_. Sharp," he commented, "I would give him some reprieve for now." He soon departed, leaving Deryn alone with Dr. Barlow and an unorganized mound of documents.

* * *

For the first time since his flight from Vienna, Alek couldn't sleep.

It certainly wasn't from cowardice. Normally, he'd be happy to take an overseas assignment from Dr. Barlow. It allowed him to prove his worth to the strictly Darwinistic members of the Zoological Society, and gave him the freedom of movement he enjoyed so much during his impromptu tour of duty aboard the _Leviathan_. More importantly, it gave him enough space from Volger and Barlow to cozy up with Deryn, who had taken an irreplaceable spot in his heart since Japan. But, this time, his mind filled with thoughts of dread and failure, and his heartbeat still hadn't leveled out since the bombshell had been dropped.

Throwing himself out of bed for the fifth time so far, Alek dragged himself out of his room, shielding his eyes from the partially dimmed glow worms hanging from the rafters.

He shuffled lazily around the hallway, not having any particular direction in mind. At this point in the day, he was physically exhausted, but his subconscious refused to give him quarter.

All of the doors in the dormitories looked alike, confusing Alek's sleep-deprived brain even more. The disgusting-looking brown and yellow carpeting certainly wasn't a pleasure to look at, either. The Zoological Society spent so much time and money on the grand entrance that they often neglected to fix basic issues around the third floor. Bureaucracy at its finest, really.

Suddenly, his knees gave out, causing him to tumble to the floor in a dazed heap. His head was spinning, his legs ached from the previous trips around the facility, and overall, he felt unwell. Vaguely, he could hear voices in the distance, but he didn't care at this point; if they saw the ex-heir to the Austrian throne lying on the ground in a stupor, so be it.

The voices grew closer and more singular in tone. He could barely make out his name being repeated in a hushed tone, but his worn-out thought processes gave it no worries.

"Alek," a higher-pitched voice whispered angrily.

"In a minute, mother," he slurred back, his thoughts drifting back to the simpler days before the summer of 1914.

"Alek," it repeated more urgently.

He ignored it this time, rolling over onto his back and squinting at the dimmed lights shining down upon him. His father had promised to set things right in the goodwill visit to Sarajevo. Although he never said when he and mother would return to Vienna, he reassured his son of the precautions that had been taken for their safety. "When I return," his last words promised, "I will have created peace for your lifetime, my dear Aleksander."

Alek couldn't help but chuckle at the cruelty of it all.

"ALEK!" Deryn nearly screamed at him, slapping him across the face to get his attention. Now freed from his stupor, he became keenly aware of the pain, and cursed loudly in German. Furiously, he covered the reddened half of his face, trying to dull the soreness.

"What the hell was that for!?" he cried out, ignorant of the boffins next door attempting to sleep.

"Before anything else, quiet down!" Deryn responded in a hushed tone. "Do you even know what time it is, Alek?"

"I don't know! Eleven, Twelve? Last time I checked, the only clock around is on the first floor!"

Deryn's confused anger turned to concern. "Alek," she worriedly said, "it's four o'clock. Have you been awake this entire time?"

"No!" Then again, he never lost consciousness at any time that evening. Could he have been trudging around the Zoological Society all night? "I mean, possibly." Mentally fatigued, he continued on. "Most likely." Fear crept into his voice. "I can't sleep. Not even a wink. Something's wrong with me, I know it."

"I'll say," she said back, looking up and down at his appearance. "You look like a mess. Honestly, I can't remember ever seeing you unkempt like this before." Admittedly, working for the doctor so frequently had caused her more advanced vocabulary to rub off on her.

A wave of self-awareness hit Alek at that moment, and he realized how disheveled and wrinkled his evening clothing was. Even Deryn, in her standard-issue brown sleepwear from the Air Service, looked groomed and clean compared to him.

"Here," Deryn whispered, taking his hand and leading him back the way he came, "I think you need someone to talk to."

Unlike before, Alek's vision was no longer blurred by a partial state of slumber. The rows of doors and sharp turns were much clearer now, thanks to the timely blow from Deryn. He often forgot how hard that girl could hit when she actually put her mind to it.

They stopped at Deryn's room, still marked with the fallacious text of "SUB-LIEUTENANT DYLAN SHARP". With a turn of her key, she opened the door, quickly pulling him in and locking the door behind them.

Deryn's room was similar to his own, barring the more organic structure and presence of fabricated utilities around. All non-essential personnel were given the same room layout: a single hard mattress with white sheets and pillows, a sturdy desk in front of the window populated with texts detailing the organization's history, a closet, and metallic walls adorned with white paint. Nothing exactly to write home about, but passable at best.

Both Deryn and Alek took seats on the bed. She was the first of the two to speak up.

"You looked like hell out there, Alek," she said, trying to keep a collected expression. "You were all curled up, muttering something or another about your parents going somewhere. If I hadn't known you any better, I'd have thought you were drunk. But…seeing you like that made me panic. You're normally so composed, I didn't know what was wrong." Sheepishly, she added, "Sorry about slapping you, by the way."

By then, the pain had dulled to an ignorable feeling. "It's fine."

"Is it because of the assignment, Alek? Is that why you've been keeping to yourself?"

Faintly, he said, "Yes."

"How long have you known about this civil war? Honestly, I only knew bits and pieces about it until this afternoon."

"Too long. Ever since Dr. Barlow got us into the Society, I've been trying to keep track of it. Nothing but bad news every day, it seemed." Despondently, Alek sighed. "It's more than just the civil war that's been bothering me, though."

He felt Deryn's warm hand on his thigh. "It's alright, Alek. You can talk to me about it, if you want to."

God's wounds, just being around her put him at ease. The tension in his shoulders seemed to evaporate, and his heartbeat continued its quickened pace – but in a much more bearable way. "Well…what worries me most, well, going back to Austria. Seeing people that might recognize me. Just…_returning_, after all I've done."

"Why would you worry about that?" she asked, concerned and confused about her best friend's anxiety. "You're a hero to them, Alek! Remember who stopped Goliath from firing on Berlin? That was you!"

"Officially, that was a test fire that went awry and killed Tesla." Which, in his opinion, he preferred to an investigative report that would have said, "Ex-Clanker prince murders beloved inventor in his own facility."

"Well, blast all that fame anyhow! You still did wonders to move the peace along, what with all those speeches and tours of America...what I'm trying to say is, you don't give yourself enough credit where it's due. You've been like that since you helped rig up those Stormwalker engines in the Alps, and it hasn't changed one bit. If you would just take more pride in your work-"

"No, no! You're missing the point!" Alek said back, desperately holding back the flood of tears he felt coming on. "It's not a matter of taking credit for what I've done right; it's what I've done wrong! I threw away my right to the throne like it was just a piece of garbage!" He could feel his throat choking up, and ashamedly turned away from Deryn.

"That's what this is about? Alek, you said so yourself: it wasn't going to be worth anything in the long run. Look at Austria now; there's no Empire to inherit! It was all just for show!"

"That's just it," he bitterly noted, "it was just for show. I showed the world that I disowned my homeland and my people. I showed them I would rather work for their enemies than help them in their time of need." Sobs began to shake his body, and he struggled to keep his breathing under control. "I showed them I didn't care about them at all!" All of his pent-up emotions were being released, and in front of his best friend no less.

Deryn finally realized that Alek was at an emotional low. Seeing the brave, thickheaded ex-prince break down in front of her awoke her inner protective instincts, and she gently wrapped her arms around his shaking body. "You showed how much you cared about me, too," she said softly. "And I will never, ever forget how much you cared about me even before you knew I was a lass."

Alek pulled her as close as he possibly could, resting his head on her shoulder. "Still," he said, his voice audibly shaking, "no one else knows that. As far as the Austrians know, I threw that scroll away in disgust!"

"I doubt that," she whispered into his ear. "You've always been a practical person to the public. They wouldn't think you deliberately destroyed your claim to the throne out of spite. More than likely, they probably don't even know you threw it into the sea."

Alek paused for a moment. "You're right. But, they still know I abandoned their way of life for some rival nation's. They might think I'm a heretic or turncoat."

"And now you're over-thinking it. Even if they did hold a grudge against you, you get the chance to prove them wrong now."

"How?"

"When we aid the Austrian army, who do you think their people will see helping their leaders prevent a complete takeover of their country? None other than ex-prince Aleksander Hohenberg, the prodigal son of the Clanker masses! You can be a hero to them again!"

Alek had to consider the entire scenario. "If all goes well, that is."

"And it will!" Deryn said, breaking their hug and patting him on the back. "We've always had luck on our side, and this'll be no different. I doubt we'll be there for more than three months, assuming all goes well. Maybe we won't even have to fight; maybe we could negotiate with the rebels and address the problems they've been having!"

Having finally regained his composure, Alek couldn't help but smile through the tears. "Deryn Sharp, what would I do without you? You complete me."

A feminine blush crept onto her face. Rather hesitantly, her lips met his in a nervous kiss. "Love you, Alek," she whispered.

He pulled Deryn closer, passionately kissing her until the two were tangled together on the bed. He believed in abstaining before marriage, but a bit of snogging wasn't exactly against his faith's doctrines. "Love you too, _mein leuchtender stern_."


	4. Reminiscing

**Esoteric24's review brought some excellent questions to my attention. I shall attempt to rectify any confusion in this note.**

**Due to the way WW1 ended in the Leviathan universe (by my estimations, it lasted 9 months to a year or so, given the dates mentioned starting in the first book and ending with the third), some of the dates and events have been rearranged to suit the timeline. For example, Austria-Hungary became the Republic of German-Austria (forgot that dash, sadly) in 1918 after they were defeated. However, if we are to believe that the war ended in 1915 like Westerfeld said, it would've been formed in 1915 instead. The Empire would've been too weak to continue existing in both universes (as implied in the bonus chapter). This also ties into the "defeat" in Serbia: it took Austria until late 1915 to fully control Serbia and begin their occupation in the real WW1. Even with some generous rounding, that doesn't give the Leviathan-universe Austria enough time to successfully invade Serbia before the war ends. Therefore, I justified their inability to take control of the country as a military defeat.**

**Deryn still being referred to as "Mr. Sharp" came about due to the Society still being unaware of her actual gender. Even in a secure location like Barlow's office, there's always the risk of a stray message lizard picking up a sentence or two that could spill her secret. As far as the characters are concerned, better safe than sorry (hence why Alek and Deryn are talking quietly at the end of chapter 3). Volger and Barlow know she's a woman, but for her sake they continue to act as though she's not when they're around the Society.**

**Volger's appearance as an advisor came about with the idea of him being a "go-between" for the commanders and the archduke, although the accuracy of that is mixed at best. It was supposed to be implied that he was a reliable tactician and a close friend of the other three in the beginning of ch. 1, hence why they wanted his opinion on the potential conflict. **

**And, yes: Alek's German phrase at the end was supposed to be as over-the-top and over-dramatic as it was written. It may have been two years, but the ex-prince is still a helpless romantic. And that's why the fandom loves him.**

**Hopefully, this will clear up any background info that may have confused readers. If I didn't address a point in this forward, it's because it may or may not be an element of the plot later on. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 4

"Reminiscing"

**Aboard the **_**H.M.S. Leviathan**_

**November 30****th****, 1916**

Somewhere above the clouds of continental Europe, the _Leviathan_ steamed along at a steady pace, leaving a trail of diesel-fueled smoke in its wake. The cold winds brushed aimlessly off of its organic membrane, as the whale-like fabrication bristled its cilia to keep a moderate temperature. The sun beamed its magnificent rays all around the sky, providing some form of warmth for its crew. Thousands of feet below, Europe seemed like an insignificant speck on the grand space of the world, its growing problems a nonissue for the British airmen above it. High above the land, it almost seemed peaceful.

For Deryn, nothing quite beat the feeling of being in the skies again. It brought out an indescribable emotion in her: whether it was the rush of wind blowing through your hair at fifty miles per hour, the thrill of climbing the ratlines across the airbeast, or even the interior workings of the vessel, it made her feel at home. Then again, when your only other home is filled with relatives desperate to force you into wearing dresses, you take whatever else there is.

Despite her current status as a civilian, her membership with the Zoological Society granted her the same privileges she held during her service in the Air Services, including free access to all sections of the airbeast. Currently, this equated to "dogging her former crewmates into talking about every single voyage since her departure."

"-And then? What happened after you arrived at Edirne?"

Midshipman Newkirk sighed, continuing his steady and even pace of swabbing the interior deck. "Well, we were on a relief mission. Officially, that is." He carefully maneuvered around Sharp with the mop, attempting to ignore the kink developing in his lower back.

Newkirk was possibly the first friend Deryn met during her tour of duty. Although he was a year her senior, they had bonded through their initial statuses as fishes-out-of-water aboard the ship. However, despite being a close confidant before she had met Alek, she still considered him to be the least-qualified for serving aboard an airbeast. It wasn't anything personal: he was a good-hearted lad with his head in the right place, but he was still a Monkey Luddite with a serious phobia of fabrications. If Alek's fears were humorous and benign, Newkirk's were a permanent roadblock in his way to a promotion.

"But there was more to it than that, wasn't there?" Deryn asked, prodding him with the rim of her white officer's cap. Being aboard the _Leviathan_ gave her an excuse to don her prized uniform once more, and she saw no reason to squander the opportunity. Besides, this allowed her to playfully rib Newkirk once more with her rank.

"No, once we got there, we got our _real _orders. Some Clanker boffin wanted to defect, and for some reason, they wanted us to contact him. The whole situation was bang out of order, in my own opinion. It was peacetime; why not send the diplomats for that?" The internals of the airbeast hummed along audibly, giving him some minor chills. "Downright ghastly thing, this ship is. You and Alek were right to get off it while you could."

Deryn's nostalgic yearning kicked in once more. "You know how I am, Newkirk," she said, her longing for the "good old days" evident in her tone. "My real home's up here in the clouds."

Newkirk involuntarily yelped as his back contorted uncomfortably, causing him to awkwardly throw himself back to regain his balance. "Well," he commented, trying to straighten himself out, "your home hasn't changed much, Dylan. Fitzroy gets the glory and the attention, and I'm stuck with the crap jobs!" Frustrated, he tossed the mop aside and leaned against the inner membrane. "You know what – time for a break. I've had enough back-breaking tasks for one week."

Even during her tenure in the Leviathan, Newkirk tended to get saddled with the less desirable jobs aboard. Sure, he would occasionally serve a role on the ratlines, like when he signaled Deryn aboard during her accident with the Huxley. But, there was only so much a boy could do when he was afraid of a good chunk of the ship. "Hate to keep bringing you down, Newkirk, but what else _could _you do? Handle the strafer hawks or flechette bats?"

"What, me?" he asked, taken aback. "Take care of those beasts made just for killing? You're joking, right?"

"Then you'd work with the organs and other internals, right?"

Newkirk violently shuddered. "Please, Dylan, never remind me of that putrid heart beating somewhere in this ship."

"So, aside from using the signal flags and cleaning the place, what else would you do?"

"Hm…" Newkirk wondered aloud, stroking his stubble for effect. "Well, I could always patrol for hydrogen leaks."

"What, with the sniffers? You squealed like a barking girl when you saw your first one!"

"Oh," he muttered, now keenly aware of the humiliation he had tried to forget, "right. I guess I'm stuck with flagging down airships and scrubbing toilets." With a hint of sarcasm in his voice, he added, "thanks for making me feel like a winner, Dylan."

"Happy to help, you old bum-rag," she retorted.

Newkirk chuckled, and added, "That's one thing I've missed, honestly."

"What?" Admittedly, she hadn't a clue as to what he was talking about.

"Those words I've only heard from you!" Deryn's visible confusion spurred him on to continue talking. "You know, 'clart', 'bum-rag', 'barking', that sort of thing. I've never heard that from anyone but you, and it's just downright odd for something to go wrong without hearing Dylan Sharp cry, 'barking spiders!'"

"W-well," she said, struggling to keep the embarrassment out of her voice, "it's not like I say those all the time! Besides, I've been getting away from saying those lately."

"That was supposed to be a compliment, you know." As if to accentuate his point, he gave her a rough pat-on-the-back and said, "There's no reason to stop talking the way you do! It's what makes you stand out!"

"I know what you're trying to say, but the standards in the society are much, _much_, different than up here. I have to watch what I say in front of the boffins!"

"I suppose," he commented with a shrug, "but it's just a bit unusual. I'm positive they won't mind if you just act like yourself."

Relieved by his advice, Deryn took a spot next to him against the wall, getting a good look at him for the first time since her arrival with Alek several hours ago.

Credit where credit was due: in the two years since she had last seen him in person, Newkirk had certainly shaped up his appearance. Not exactly on-par with Alek, of course, but she had never viewed Newkirk as anything more than a friend. No longer lanky or uncomfortable in his own shoes, he had grown into a tall, dignified member of the _Leviathan_. He kept himself clean-shaven and trimmed, showing much more care about his appearance than before, and had finally figured out how to tie that necktie that had driven him mad for the first few months. "Even I knew how to do that from the get-go," Deryn thought, "and I'm a sodding girl!"

"So, you were saying something about Turkey?" She wanted to hear the unfinished tale he had been getting into. Sometimes, it was hard to believe that she had literally traveled across the world during her time aboard the _Leviathan. _When you're risking life and limb every day and embarking on bizarre adventures, the months seemed to pass by in a flash.

"About what? Oh, right, the mission in Turkey." Newkirk caught a glimpse of Mr. Rigby through the deck windows, and quickly grabbed the mop off the floor to resume his duties. "Well, this boffin would only defect if we did a favor for him. He wanted us to evacuate this group of people in Edirne from the Ottoman Empire into Serbia. So, we went on this wild goose chase around the city looking for these - not sure what they were called, Armenians or something - and smuggling them onto the _Leviathan_. Not sure why we were doing it exactly, but he said he owed his life to them, and they were in grave danger for some reason."

Deryn raised an eyebrow curiously. "What do you mean, 'grave danger?'"

"I'm still not sure exactly what he meant. But, from what I recall, there were a lot more walkers patrolling the streets than there were when Dr. Barlow brought us there. Pretty sure they were making some arrests while we were there, which certainly didn't make our job any easier. But, we did what we had to, and it all worked out smoothly. Mostly." He paused for a brief moment, before letting out a melancholic sigh. "There was this beautiful, beautiful girl that was helping us during the mission. Dark hair, olive skin, and these brown eyes that just – I don't even know, looked into your soul. I'm thinking she was involved in that Ottoman revolution a few years back. I mean, what else could teach a woman to take on 3 elephant walkers with a single iron golem and come out on top?"

The pieces seemed to come together for Deryn. "Wait a moment," she asked, "was her name Lilit, by chance?"

"Yeah, yeah!" he replied with a snap of his fingers, "her name was Lilit!" His clarity was quickly followed by confusion. "Wait, how did you know that?"

"Well, remember when I was sent out to break up those kraken nets? It got a little out-of-hand, and one thing led to another…then Alek and I helped her overthrow the sultan."

Initially, Newkirk was uncertain about his friend's truthfulness. "…You're serious?" he asked. All it took was one look from Deryn to confirm it. "God, Dylan, you've had a hand in almost everything lately, haven't you?"

"Aye," she said with a smirk, "and it's not going to stop anytime soon!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Deryn spotted a message lizard crawling out of the framework of the _Leviathan_, scurrying along the ceiling as quick as its stout legs could carry it. "Well," Newkirk added, "I wouldn't get your hopes up about that Lilit woman. From I gather, she," Newkirk grunted uncomfortably as he racked his brain for an effective euphemism, "ehm, how do I put it? 'Swings for the same team?'" As if to emphasize his point, he made an underhanded Cricket batting gesture.

That, too, she was already aware of. Unbeknownst to poor Newkirk, Deryn was, in fact, the girl that Lilit had her eyes on since their work in Turkey. Even though she had no idea how one could like their own gender, she couldn't help but feel some sadness for indirectly rejecting her advances. "Barking spiders, Newkirk, that's a pretty serious accusation to make!"

"Look, I know it sounds a bit off-"

"Midshipman Newkirk!" an authoritative voice shouted in the distance. Newkirk recoiled in shock, nearly dropping the mop once more. Standing in the entranceway to the bridge was the vessel's bosun, Mr. Rigby, an inexhaustible source of assignments and maintenance jobs. "You're wanted outside on the ratlines! Your cleaning duties are on hold until we reach the Austrian border!"

With the speed of a frightened rabbit, Newkirk gave his superior a salute and dashed out towards one of the many side exits in the _Leviathan_. "Lt. Sharp," he said, turning his attention towards the Deryn, "come with me. Captain Hobbes needs to give you your supplies for this mission you're on. Besides, I can't have you going around and distracting middies, now can I?"

"I suppose not, sir," she replied with a wry grin. Despite his rough exterior, Rigby did care immensely about the goodwill of the midshipman he was in charge of. Deryn found out after a month of working for him that he viewed his authoritarianism as a way to keep his subordinates out of trouble, and closer to promotion. An odd approach, she had to say, but an effective one, as she rose through the ranks with her mastery of handling fabrications and her bravery in the face of danger.

"It's good to have you back, Sharp," Mr. Rigby admitted. "The old airbeast hasn't been quite the same without you setting an example for the other midshipmen. Fitzroy is too brash handling the strafer hawks, and Newkirk's too terrified to even get near them. We need more men like you around here. I know it isn't any of my business, but I wish I knew why you left the Service in the first place. If you had a problem, it could've been worked out!"

"Oh, believe me, Mr. Rigby, I loved working aboard the Leviathan-"

"-But the longer I stayed around, the more likely I'd get court-martialed for being a lass," she thought.

"-But the longer I stayed around, the more I was worrying my mum!" she said in actuality. "When Dr. Barlow offered Alek and me positions in the Society, I knew I had to take it; it meant I'd be closer to her than I'd be otherwise!" Of course, it was a bald-faced lie: her mother was confident in her daughter's ability to survive against all odds, but what she really feared was her daughter not growing up to be a proper lady. Even when she introduced her to Alek for the first time, her mother insisted on stuffing her into a bodice and having her refrain from using any of her highland slang. If it were up to her, Deryn would've never enlisted in the first place.

"Interesting," he muttered, "never pegged you as a mother's boy, Sharp. But, if it suits your needs…" Re-opening the entrance to the bridge, Rigby motioned for Deryn to enter. Sidestepping the unfinished mopping job Newkirk left behind, she strode into the bridge, where some more familiar faces were awaiting her arrival.


	5. The Packages

Chapter 5

"The Packages"

**November 30****th****, 1916**

**Aboard the **_**H.M.S. Leviathan**_

As Deryn took her first steps into the pristine, well-maintained office of Captain Hobbes, she felt a nostalgic sense of pride and sadness: pride for the many honors she received serving under his command, and sadness during the solemn day she handed him her resignation papers. She spent the next hour fighting back tears and reassuring her jovial commanding officer that it had nothing to do with him, and that it was a strictly personal matter. It didn't help that she couldn't tell him the truth, but it was either keep her gender a secret or risk shaming herself and her entire family. Even if the reason for being there now was much less serious than before, entering his office still left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Ah, Mr. Sharp!" he eagerly greeted her, saluting for effect. "I was just looking for you."

Deryn happily returned the salute. "What do you need, Captain?" Much to her relief, Captain Hobbes hadn't changed much since her departure. His beard was as well-maintained as before, he still had a corncob pipe dangling from his lips everywhere he walked, and he was still good-mannered. In many ways, he was the spitting image of what an officer should be.

"Dr. Barlow wanted me to hand you three the packages you would need for this mission of yours. Still not entirely sure what it is, though. I insisted that I needed to know for any safety hazards, but all she would say is that the_ Leviathan _would only be bringing you to and from Austria." From the bottom-left drawer on his desk, he pulled out an unlabeled brown package, crudely sealed with two pieces of string.

Unsure of what to think, Deryn took the package. "Sorry about all the secrecy. Doctor Barlow's a nice person, but you probably know that she's a bit…"

"Distrustful?" he suggested. Although Deryn would never admit it out loud, she thought that Barlow was much too conspiratorial to be fully trusted. The captain's assessment was fairly accurate. "I learned the hard way, when I found her reading through every flight log of the _Leviathan _since its maiden voyage. Apparently, she had doubts about the competence of the crew, and myself for that matter! My reassurances certainly didn't stop her from looking through every detail of every flight, and reminding her that those were classified documents intended to be read only by officers, she started hanging her authority over me." Casually, he puffed several clouds of tobacco smoke from his pipe. "Life was certainly…different with her around, I must say."

Deryn began shaking the package, listening to the quiet rustling of its contents to guess what they were. Hers was definitely heavier and bulkier than expected, and the rattling of metal on metal suggested that it contained more than her orders. "So, am I supposed to open it here, or…"

"That's entirely up to you. Aleksandar and Count Volger are in the next room, presumably discussing whatever reasons you three are being sent to Austria. You could open it there or in here."

On one hand, Deryn could trust the captain with her life. She greatly respected the man for his stalwart command and coolheadedness in battle, and enjoyed every minute of the time she served under him. On the other hand, she would gain much more insight from learning what Alek and Volger were going to be doing…

"Mind if I join them?" she asked, extending her hand towards the meeting room.

"By all means! I'm quite fine to let you discuss this matter privately." Captain Hobbes sat his pipe down on the table, and added, "However, if any information you receive risks endangering this ship or its crew, you must tell me about it. I understand the need for secrecy, but not at the cost of collateral damage."

Deryn gave the captain an affirmative nod, and stepped into the relatively empty side room. Alek and Volger were sitting nearby and huddled together, muttering to one another over the two pieces of paper laid out in front of them.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she joked, closing the door behind her.

Alek's expression immediately brightened, while Volger remained stoic. She knew that he wasn't overly enthusiastic about Alek's relationship with her, and partially blamed her for Alek's decision to renounce the throne. However, as Deryn knew, there was little he could publicly do about it without hurting his closeness with Alek, as he learned during the flight from Serbia to Japan. He could only sit back and grimace as another commoner interfered with the love life of one of his trusted nobles.

Deryn grabbed the closest chair to Alek, dropping her package onto the table. "I'm guessing you both already figured out what you're supposed to do?" she asked.

"Engineering work, actually," Alek admitted, not quite as thrilled as she imagined he'd be. "For some reason, Dr. Barlow thought it would be best for me to work as an engineer for this. I'll be repairing damaged walkers and assisting in their construction."

For a boy who knew Stormwalkers inside and out, Alek sounded almost despondent. "What's the matter? I thought you'd love to get your hands dirty with all of that Clanker tech!"

"Normally, yes," he responded, sounding almost uncertain. "I'm eager to get back to mechanical matters again. As fond as I've grown of fabrications, Deryn, nothing can top the thrill of disassembling the legs of a walker and rebuilding them without instructions!" His look returned to his written orders, signed _Barlow _at the bottom. "I was just hoping to contribute more than this…"

Not wanting to let Alek slip into a sense of self-loathing, Deryn manually turned his head towards hers. Smiling, she said, "Aye, but you're still contributing, aren't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing! You're thinking that you're only doing a small part, but it's still a part nonetheless! You're helping out a greater cause. It's like…like…" Deryn's mind raced to come up with an effective analogy. What was all that talk Alek had given her about moving parts a few weeks back? "Gears!"

For all his knowledge of machinery, Alek was momentarily dumbfounded. "What about gears?" he asked, audibly and visibly confused.

"Gears, you know, in a machine! They all move because of each other!" She internally hoped that her description was accurate. "And even the smallest gear helps the entire machine do its job effectively! Isn't that right?" Deryn playfully punched him in the shoulder for effect. "Then that's the way to look at it! It's better than staying at the Society and doing nothing, right?"

"I suppose…" Alek was holding his head against the table. "However…"

Now, it was Deryn's turn to be confused. "'However?' What's that supposed to mean?"

Alek lifted his head, grinning and unable to stop himself from laughing. "Gears? Machines? I might just make a proper Clanker out of you yet, Deryn!"

"Hmph," she pouted back, "get stuffed. I'm not turning into some sort of grease monkey anytime soon." In spite of her tone, she threw her left arm around Alek, pulling him closer into a sort-of hug. It was almost funny how quickly she could go between wanting to kiss and kick that bum-rag. However, remembering that she was showing affection in front of Alek's disapproving guardian, she broke the hug and got back to unboxing her supplies.

"If you two are through now," Volger said, irritated with their behavior, "I believe it's time for the late arrival to let us know what the doctor has in mind for her."

Carefully, Deryn removed the strings from her package, tearing a hole along its left side to create an opening. Unable to see what exactly was inside, she slipped her free hand into it and grasped around, grabbing ahold of a short wooden handle and pulling it out, dragging a slip of paper with it.

A shortened, black revolver stared back at her, reflecting the fluorescent lights of the glow worms crawling around overhead.

Nervously, Deryn turned her hand around, studying the firearm from the other side. She spun the cylinder, watching each of the five magnum bullets circle around aimlessly in their shells. This wasn't some fake or blank-firing variant; this was an actual snub-nosed revolver. She had no idea how to react, other than, "Oh, clart."

"Well, that's…different…than what I imagined was in there," Alek commented. "But why would Dr. Barlow give you something like that for the mission?"

She always felt a bit uneasy about guns. They were too impersonal, too cold for her liking. With fabricated weapons, they were only as lethal as you made them out to be, and the responsibility for killing was impossible to dodge. Firearms seemed to create a distance between the act of killing and the emotions for her, although she understood the necessity behind them.

"Maybe she explained in the note…" Deryn's eyes glanced at her orders, setting the revolver down beside them. "Mister, or should I say Miss Sharp?" she read aloud. "This may be written evidence of your gender, but it is for your eyes only. I suppose there is no need to mince words. Your assignment may be of the greatest importance, as your knowledge of Darwinistic tendencies and strategies alongside a basic understanding of the Clanker mindset gives you the most qualified prerequisites for it. You will be deployed undercover into the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance's territory and picked up by a certain patrol. From there, you must gain the trust of its leaders, particularly Ms. Gottschalk, and internally sabotage it by all means necessary."

Deryn felt an uneasiness settling into her stomach. "I'm going to be all the way across the country?" she whispered, as if she were questioning Dr. Barlow herself. She was hoping for an intelligence job or something that wouldn't put her in direct conflict with the Austrian Darwinists. With this, everything seemed much more complicated.

"Keep reading, maybe there's some good news later on!" Alek said, as reassuring as he could possibly sound. He was as concerned as Deryn was at this point.

"I have already contacted the A.D.A. through a network of contacts, and they are expecting a Zoological Society agent named Dylan Sharp to arrive and assist their struggle through clandestine actions."

"Clandestine means 'illicit' or 'subversive', in case you were unaware," Volger added.

Ignoring his comment, Deryn pressed on reading. "As long as you remain in-character as a devoted Darwinist heading oversees to 'fight the Clanker oppressors' – quite a few people are doing that, I should note – there should be no foreseeable problems. Just in case anything goes wrong, however, I have enclosed one fully-loaded snub-nosed .357 magnum and a speed-loader. The revolver has had its serial number filed off to ensure that it cannot be traced. Please exercise caution with this weapon: the last thing we need is to create a martyr for the rebels to rally behind. Also, in your package lays a prototype communication system designed for portability."

Remembering that she had not pulled everything out of her package, Deryn removed the filled speed-loader and a metallic, cylindrical device. It appeared to have some sort of bendable antenna on its left side, as well as a singular button in its center accompanied by several exposed wires. Like the hornet launcher she had tested back in the Society, it had two straps on its back, indicating that it could be mounted on one's wrist. "It will allow you to receive transmissions and send any information you glean from being around the A.D.A., as important as battle plans or potential acts of sabotage to minor details such as Ms. Gottschalk's traits and quirks. I hope you remember Morse Code, as it is the only means for you to talk with it. Much more stealthy than a radio, if you ask me. On its underside is the frequency you will use to contact the Austrian Intelligence agents, and it comes with a deploy-able cover to protect it from dust and debris. They respond only to messages beginning with the phrase, 'iron and copper.'"

First illegal handguns and now confusing communication devices. If she thought she was in over her head before…

Below Barlow's signature was a handwritten message. "You have survived without Alek before, and you can do it today. He will be safe and sound as an engineer, so fret not about his safety. You have proven yourself to be a capable insurrectionist in the Ottoman Revolt, and now you can put those skills to use once more. I have faith that you will return safely."

Once she had finished reading, the entire room became dead silent. Deryn was emotionally conflicted and unsure of even what to say. Alek wasn't talking either, probably unable to think of a way to comfort her. Fear crept into her soul, creating a sense of dread within her normally level-head. She had been part of a revolution before…but she was working _with_ the rebels, not going behind their backs and working against them. She would be entering a situation where she had no friends for support, and even the slightest misstep could give her away. All alone, hundreds of miles away from her closest friend and confidant.

Every second seemed to drag on forever, due to the uneasy silence drifting its way through the small meeting room.

Eventually, Volger rapped his knuckle twice on the table, getting Deryn and Alek's attention. "Seeing as how Miss Sharp may be suffering an existential crisis now, I suppose it is in our best interests to motivate her into action."

She couldn't help but feel a wee bit confused. Was Count Volger, of all people, going to actually provide emotional support for her? Even after doing things like nearly ratting her out after the flight from Istanbul?

"Miss Sharp, you have gone into detail with Aleksandar about your previous missions, and have mentioned various aspects of overseas operations you have taken part in. Presumably, you've had experience with temperamental individuals, seeing as how you've come into contact with people such as Tesla, Lilit, or even Alek himself, and come out unscathed. Is that not true?"

"Well…" Deryn couldn't think of a counter to his claim. "You're right. But I don't see how-"

"From the reports I read," Volger said, cutting her off, "during the short time between the failed negotiation and our flight from Austria, this Gottschalk woman is rather emotionally unstable and prone to violence, while also acting cunning and intelligent. However, you have dealt with much worse in the past, and this assignment will have few differences compared to any prior one. The only change is that you'll be indirectly hindering Darwinists, instead of aiding them. As long as you act natural, there should be no complications."

Something about Volger's speech seemed to strike a nerve with Deryn. "This is much, much different than anything I've done before!" she cried in protest. "This is a massive risk for me!"

"And staring down what you thought was a Swiss arms smuggler," he asked, pointing towards Alek, "wasn't a massive risk for you? Even though he was panicking and could have set off a hydrogen-based explosion from a stray bullet?"

"No, no, you're mixing up two completely different things. I'm not ready for something as big as this!" For once, she was actually doubting her abilities to succeed. Perhaps it wasn't the minor details or the distance from her Austrian loyalist "allies" that was bothering her.

"Hm? And directly aiding an armed revolt in an ancient empire wasn't 'big' to you? Nor was engaging two zeppelins within your first month of service, as you apparently described to Alek?" Volger was staring her down, almost as if he were inside her head prying open her secrets. "I believe the real problem here is not that you're about to work undercover, but the fact that you're working against your own people. Am I correct?"

He was much too perceptive for his own good. Whether it was discerning her actual gender weeks before Alek or Barlow could, or figuring out that Barlow could understand his and Alek's "private" conversations in German, he always seemed one thought ahead of the pack. Secretly, Deryn resented him for this.

"Yes, that's why," she replied, pained to admit the truth.

Alek leaned over, glancing at her worriedly. "You're not serious, right Deryn? I mean…I'm not trying to be rude, but…how is it any different from the men you fought before? It's not because they're…"

She didn't want to have to say it. Not to his face, not to the one person who had broken every skewed view of the Germans and Austrians she once held.

As if it were on cue, Volger said, "Darwinists, you mean? Yes, I am positive that Miss Sharp is having second thoughts about harming her own 'people' by doing this job. Moral qualms certainly didn't stop her from fighting against our 'people,' the Clankers, for several years. But, involve harming a group with ideas vaguely similar to hers, and we have an ethical dilemma on our hands!"

Deryn wanted to say something defiant to him, shout at the top of her lungs that she didn't care about what side of the technological struggles people were on. She wanted to deny every accusation he made in front of Alek, show him that she didn't find it easier to kill Clankers than Darwinists. She wanted to prove her tolerance.

But she couldn't.

Alek looked like he was silently pleading with her, almost begging her for Volger to be wrong. "Please, Deryn, tell him that's not true," he quietly said. When she turned her head in shame, his expression went from concern to hurt. "Deryn, please…"

Abruptly, the klaxons stationed around the _Leviathan_ sounded off, releasing a continuous warning screech that got the attention of every living being aboard the airbeast. Deryn, Alek, and Volger involuntarily jumped out of their chairs in shock, as Captain Hobbes audibly did in the other room. She heard loud, clanging footsteps sprint into the room, hurriedly opening the door to his office.

"Captain! Captain!" an unrecognizable voice cried out over the chaotic noise. "We're being intercepted by an Austrian zeppelin! They're flagging us down as we speak!"

Mentally, Deryn began to panic. The last time a Clanker zeppelin pursued the _Leviathan_, they got shot down over the Alps and left to die. Even though the airbeast had been repaired since then, they lacked the armaments necessary for a full-scale confrontation due to their supposedly peaceful escort mission. God forbid, if they get shot down over Germany…

"Calm down, Fitzroy!" the captain said back, probably trying to act as a pillar of support for the crew as always. "Have they said what they want?"

"Well – Newkirk said they intended to search us for contraband, and pick up two Zoological Society agents for the remaining flight to Austria!" From what Deryn could see through the blinds, Fitzroy was badly shaking and barely able to compose himself. Then came a thought: _two_ Society agents? The dossier listed her, Alek, and Volger, didn't it? Did she mishear that, or…

Captain Hobbes began pacing the perimeter of his office, clearly deep in thought. "They can't attack us unprovoked – they have no reason to, and doing so would bring them to war with the Empire. Lord knows they can barely hold out as-is…what sort of setup did their zeppelin have?"

"Um," Fitzroy stuttered, trying to recount the details, "usual look for a wartime one – weapons not visible from the outside, gray, lean and long appearance – just with the new flag painted over it. What should we do?"

Within a short matter of time, Captain Hobbes responded. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we're going to allow it to run a search and collect whomever they need." The fire returned to the captain's eyes as he added, "Any more than that, and we will retaliate. I will not tolerate any abuse of my crew or my ship."

Fitzroy saluted back, and dashed out of his office, making a beeline for the rigging lines. The three exited the meeting room, gaining the notice of an anxious Captain Hobbes. "You all probably heard about the situation. Take whatever belongings you brought here, and prepare to be moved aboard this – new vessel. If necessary, we will be ready to fight."

One thought was still eating away at Deryn. "Sir, when Fitzroy mentioned the Austrian ship's request, he said three agents, right?"

Tired of the constant ringing, Captain Hobbes pressed the "silence alarms" button installed into his desk. "No, he only mentioned two. Make of that what you will, Mr. Sharp." He motioned over his shoulder, as if to say, "Come with me!"

With no other option, the three followed Captain Hobbes out of his office and into the unknown.

* * *

A few minutes later, the first Austrian paratroopers rappelled into the loading bay.

Each one wore a light-gray uniform and matching Stahlhelm, showing various signs of wear and tear, and carrying Mauser carbines. They moved in an almost robotic, uniform manner, moving outward to secure the perimeter and prepare the way for their comrades. Their eyes darted around the room, scanning for any potential threats that may lurk inside the mysterious Darwinist fabrication. For most of the men, this was the first time they had ever seen an airbeast from the inside. Obviously, the idea of searching this…thing, this ungodly creature, put them on edge.

More and more descended from the zeppelin above them, shouting various indiscernible commands in German. Deryn had learned quite a bit of German since she first met Alek, but these men were speaking much too quickly to decipher.

When around a dozen of them had assembled themselves around the edges of the loading bay, Deryn witnessed a peculiar sight: two men, manually attached to the airship with cables, were lowering a man in a wheelchair onto the floor of the _Leviathan_. She couldn't make much of him, except for the circular blue officer's cap atop his head, and an aged royal blue uniform with the single bar of a First Lieutenant.

He attempted to roll himself toward Captain Hobbes only using his left arm, but couldn't get any traction, forcing one of the men on the side to get behind him and do it for him.

"Why isn't he just moving himself with both arms?" Deryn asked no one in particular.

"Hmm," Volger muttered, watching him carefully. "I think the answer may be in plain sight. Look closer at his appearance."

Deryn's eyes returned to the Austrian officer. "What's he talking about?" she wondered. He looked fairly normal: brown hair, partially reddened face, thin moustache -

Then she got a better look at the rest of him. More accurately, what was left of him.

His right sleeve dangled loosely from about two inches past the shoulder, and the coat's arm appeared thin and unoccupied beyond that point. The same went for his right pant leg: completely empty beyond the first few inches.

"He's an amputee?" Alek asked.

"It would appear so. Rather unusual for a man in his mid-twenties, I must say."

The officer in the wheelchair was rolled all the way to Captain Hobbes, giving a customary salute as he stopped. "A pleasure, Lieutenant…"

The Austrian officer sighed. "Jung. Lt. Hermann Jung of the 3rd Infantry Division." His voice was orotund and clear, although not entirely pleasant to listen to. "Why those idiots at high command thought it'd be a great idea to send a _cripple _to an airborne negotiation is beyond me. Probably just want me out of their hair…"

His head lurched back to the private behind him. "Can you believe this crap?" he asked, indifferent to the people in front of him. "Who the hell would want to live aboard a place like this? Everything's probably fleshy and pulsating past here, like some sort of whale's innards. Just like Jonah, except he didn't have to deal with needle-spewing bats!"

Everyone except Volger was momentarily stunned at his blunt rudeness. Captain Hobbes cleared his throat, bringing Jung back to face him. "Ah, yes, the Captain." Meeting his gaze, Jung said, "My men are going to search this 'vessel' top to bottom for any weapons or fabricating materials. You got the go-ahead from high command to arrive, but we just want to be sure that nothing slips through."

"Understandable. They have my consent to do so, as long as they do not interfere with my crew, their quarters, or the fabrications aboard this ship."

Giving a nod of confirmation, Jung shouted, "_Raus, raus_!" to the men in the bay, sending all but two of them marching into the interior of the _Leviathan_.

Deryn felt as though her private life was being intruded by some unknown entity. "Who are these people," she angrily thought to herself, "these Clankers, to barge into my home and sift through every corner of it? The barking nerve of them! Of course we aren't arms smugglers! What sort of idiotic smuggler would fly an airbeast into a mostly Clanker-held territory?" After realizing how demeaning of an attitude she was taking towards Clankers again, she mentally kicked herself. She had already humiliated herself in front of Alek as-is, and didn't want to slip into a frame of mind that would make her act that way again.

"Now," Jung said, "The search may seem a bit much, but it gives my men a bit of practice if it ever became necessary. Technically, I'm going against orders, but it's for the best. High command said that Darwinists weren't idiotic enough to smuggle weapons using a fabricated vessel, but I'm not so sure…"

It took all of Deryn's willpower to not punch him in the face.

"Lt. Jung," Hobbes sternly said, "I may have conceded to your requests, but do not think for a second that it gives you the right to openly mock my men and I aboard our vessel."

"Oh, I'm-I am so sorry," he responded, feigning a look of concern, "I had no idea that – Blonsky, was I being _mocking_ to these men?" The private, presumably Blonsky, nodded his head uncertainly. "My deepest apologies. I had no inkling that my innermost thoughts would be so…_devastating _to you all." Drawing a cigarette from his pocket protector, he crudely stuck it in his mouth. "Then again," he continued, igniting it with a metallic lighter handed to him by the private, "I thought I was going to board a ship of _men_. You know, the type with backbones."

Instinctively, Alek held Deryn back from charging Jung and beating him senseless, as she slung an array of incomprehensible curses at him. Jung's normally bitter exterior changed, and he found himself smiling at Deryn's rage.

"I like this one!" he said to the other Austrian private in the bay. "He's got more guts than I expected. I hope he's one of the two we're transporting back. Is he?"

The private removed a piece of brown paper from his pant pocket. "We're supposed to take…Prince Aleksandar of Hohenberg and Wildcount Volger back aboard the _S.M.S. Totenglocke_, _herr Lieutenant_. The other is supposed to be dropped off at some location in No Man's Land."

"Well, he doesn't exactly look like he has German roots, which means…"

Jung went silent, carelessly letting the lit cigarette dangle from his mouth. He turned to Alek and Volger, eyes lowered and mood swung back to negative.

"Aleksandar?" he asked, clearly disturbed. "Volger? Did I hear that right?"

Deryn had finally calmed down, allowing Alek to respond as his friend panted in the corner. "That would be me," he responded, "and Count Volger is beside me. Do you need us to do anything right now?"

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, dropping his cigarette and angrily stomping it out with his good leg. "Yeah, I have a 'job' for both of you," he told them both, his voice evidently angered, "hold onto those ropes behind me and let the engineers raise you onto the deck. Then, get out of my sight and stay there!" Jung handed the captain a map of the Republic of German-Austria with several circles drawn around a point around the Midwest of the country. "You'll deposit your agent there," he said as he made a circling gesture with his hand, causing Blonsky to wheel him back toward the ropes and away from the four.

While Volger seemed as though he could care less about the Lieutenant's outburst, Alek was visibly more worried. Deryn's concerns were not alleviated by the meeting.

"Alek," she began to say, intending to wish him the best of luck and remind him of her love for him.

"Please, Deryn, just stop." He sounded as heartbroken as she was beginning to feel. "I-I can't hear it now, not after what you said back there. Or, what you didn't say. I'll see you soon enough."

Deryn could only watch as her best friend, the ex-prince whom she loved, walked away and boarded the Clanker airship without a single word.


	6. Out from the Past

**A/N: Special thanks to Esoteric24, will, and noternesthemingway for your reviews. I truly appreciate your feedback!**

* * *

Chapter 6

"Out from the Past"

**Aboard the **_**S.M.S. Totenglocke**_

**November 30****th****, 1916**

Even though he was raised a Clanker, Alek's experiences with zeppelins were few and far between. He had seen several in-flight while watching Austrian military drills, and had clashed with a few during his time aboard the _Leviathan_. His only memory of boarding an airship, however, was a vague one from when he was merely five years old. Although the details eluded him, he was positive that his father and mother had been there with him.

Compared to the airbeast he had lived in since his ill-fated retreat into the Alps, the _Totenglocke _was a completely alien environment.

In contrast to the organic and flexible interior membrane of an airbeast, the zeppelin appeared to be a rigid array of girders and rings upholding its white-gray "skin." To his slightly-biased opinion, the environment of their loading bay felt devoid of life and vibrancy. Aside from the irate, wheelchair-bound lieutenant and several Austrian soldiers, he and Count Volger were the only ones he could see on-board. The gray, mechanical interior appeared cold, almost unsettling without the familiar faces of his former crew-mates. He got the feeling that Klopp would have a field day being able to study the inner workings of the airship.

Alek had heard the word "duralumin" tossed around a few times by the Austrians in the _Leviathan_'s cargo bay; presumably, this was some key element of the airship. From the glimpses of the entire vessel that Alek had gotten during his ascent, most of the vessel's space was used to store the hydrogen cells, while the protruding lower section housed passengers and any other necessary materials.

Admittedly, he only knew most of this because Volger was currently describing it to him.

"-And here, Your Serene Highness," Volger said, still clinging onto the habit of referencing Alek's former title, "is the cargo hold. Much like the _Leviathan_'s, although it also has built-in rails for rolling in spare parts. In some instances, entire walkers have been deployed from zeppelins-"

"-Believe me, Volger, I appreciate all of the information you're giving me, but how do you even _know_ all of this? I can't recall you ever being in an airship before!"

Alek could make out the sounds of the remaining Austrians climbing back onto their zeppelin via the rappelling cables still dangling from the edge. As expected, they came up empty-handed, grumbling and gossiping about the sights and sounds they witnessed within the _Leviathan_. He had to wonder how the crew managed to keep the onboard fabrications from assaulting them on-sight.

"Oh, I have never flown in one myself." Volger stopped for a moment, looking at the expansive corridors ahead. A man in a light-blue officer's uniform and eloquent gold-black officer's helmet entered the bay, clicking his heels and saluting them. While Alek hesitantly returned the salute, Volger did so eagerly and shook his hand as well. "However," he continued, turning his head to Alek, "I did meet the man who invented them."

The other officer, presumably the captain of the _Totenglocke_, moved aside to monitor the retrieval of the cables. "You met Count Zeppelin?" Alek asked, almost astonished.

"Of course!" he quickly responded, taking on his mildly condescending "you-should-have-figured-this-out-already" tone. "You forget, Aleksandar, that I have met quite a few important individuals in my lifetime." Volger's annoyance turned to a more humored mood. "It was a rather interesting encounter: I was still in the cavalry at the time, and was given the odd order to patrol a Clanker think-tank along with ten other men. We mostly circled the premises individually, until late into the night this drunken boffin stumbles out, declaring, 'I am Ferdinand Adolf Heinrich August Graf von Zeppelin!' repeatedly and spilling Schnapps all over his suit." Volger pursed his lips, appearing to stop himself from giggling in front of Alek. "So, with no one nearby, I was forced to stop him from getting too far, and began dragging him back into the compound. Then, he begins mumbling details of this new vehicle he was designing, oblivious to the fact that he had left the discussion. It got _very _unusual when-"

"-_For the love of God, stop_," a voice called from behind them. Both he and Volger turned their attention to a visibly frustrated Lt. Jung. "Can I talk? Can I just, you know, finish up the report I'm giving without you stroking your own inflated ego? Honest to God, I can't concentrate with you going _on _and _on _about your secret past that no one cares about!"

Once again, Alek was taken aback by the lieutenant's behavior. "What gives him the right to treat us so rudely?" he thought to himself. "In fact, why is he doing this in the first place?" He had never seen Jung prior to the negotiation aboard the _Leviathan_, and Volger also seemed to be unfamiliar with him. Why, then, was he so adamant about talking down to them?

Rather than return scorn with scorn, Volger merely adjusted his sleeves and said, "Perhaps you forget, lieutenant, that you are speaking with a noble. Formality isn't necessary, but I do expect respect from you."

"And perhaps _you _forget, Volger," Jung said back, hand-signaling the private behind him to roll him closer, "that the idea of 'respecting nobles' only applies to people who have honored their country." He stopped a foot from Volger, meeting his eyes. "So," he added, smirking, "degenerate filth like you don't get or deserve that sort of treatment. Same goes for your errand boy there."

Alek internally fumed at the "errand boy" remark, but Volger didn't seem to be phased by his comments. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he ultimately said. "Please, continue with your report."

Jung glared back at him, almost uncertain how to react to his apparent humility. After some time, the private turned him around to face the captain. "Did anything come up during the search?" he asked Jung.

Jung sighed. "I gave the British captain the coordinates he would need to drop that other agent. However, nothing of interest was located during the sweep. They had no intention of double-crossing us, as far as I could tell."

"Hm, as we hoped. You may return to your quarters, Lieutenant. I will handle matters from here."

Jung raised his right stump, as if he were giving a salute, but quickly dropped it and properly saluted with his left arm. Private Blonsky rolled him out of the cargo hold and into the crew's quarters.

The captain began rubbing his temples irritably. "Damn fool," he muttered to no one in particular, "never knows when to keep his mouth shut." Nervously, he addressed Alek and Volger. "My sincerest apologies. If I had known he would act so foully, I would have greeted you in person down there."

"No harm done, Steiner," Volger said. "Best not for us to make a scene of it, anyway. No need to draw out a pointless argument."

Once again, the wildcount's sphere of influence seemed to be all-encompassing. Now he was on good terms with airship captains Alek had never heard of? He would have to privately discuss with Volger how many military officials he knew.

Then again, there was another burning question on his mind, one that he had been grappling with since the meeting with Deryn-

The flood of emotions hit him like a punch to the stomach. He hadn't realized it on the way up, but he left his best friend behind without a last word or comfort. He may never even see her again! And he had given her the cold shoulder when she was clearly worried as well!

Even if he was still uncomfortable with her comments during the meeting, he prayed to God that she would make it back alive. He _had_ to see her one more time, or he would never forgive himself for shunning her last words to him. He couldn't live with the guilt of it.

"We'll be arriving at the airfield in a few hours," Steiner said. "In the meantime, you two can relax in your assigned quarters. God certainly knows you'll need to rest up for everything up ahead…"

* * *

Back and forth, Alek paced the floor of his and Volger's shared room.

Even though it was even smaller than his Zoological Society quarters and rather cramped, he kept moving up and back restlessly. Every time he reached a wall, he would turn around and repeat the process, marching up and back once more in an unending pace.

His mind was focused on one issue, yet he could find no simple solution to it. No matter how he phrased the question to himself, no matter what factors he included, he was still at a loss for words. He was utterly lost, forced to trudge back and forth to keep his mind thinking about it.

Evidently, the continuous sound of Alek's foot hitting the metal floor was grating on Volger's nerves. He had been attempting to read an old periodical left behind by some other passenger years ago, but the mumbling of Alek combined with his constant pacing pulled his attention away from the written text.

At some indeterminable point, Volger dropped the periodical onto the small sofa he had been attempting to relax on. "Aleksandar, perhaps if you let me know what is bothering you, then I might be able to advise you about it." The wildcount's tone was filled with both concern and annoyance. Although Alek knew that, deep down, Volger did view him as a son, he often masked this emotion with plotting behind his back and "looking out for his interests."

Alek's pacing ground to a halt. "It's just…well, I've been thinking about what you said about Deryn. And how she would show preference to Darwinists than Clankers while in conflict." Any feelings he had of resentment towards her had been suppressed by guilt and heartache. Even if she could be a _Dummkopf_ at times, he still felt an intimate connection with her that had become irreplaceable over the years.

"From what I can tell, you're feeling guilty about not giving her a proper goodbye." Volger glanced over at his face, curiously studying the odd mixture of confusion and anguish he was expressing. "Or, is there more to it than that?"

Alek hesitated, uncertain how to word his mixed emotions. "It's just…well…considering Deryn's perspective in the 'Clanker or Darwinist' issue, is she really wrong to put her own people above ours?"

Volger's eyes averted to the window, where a grand panorama of the trenches dug around Vienna was visible. "Ordinarily? No, as she was raised a British Darwinist and would naturally defend her place of origin from attackers. The Clankers did bomb London and other British cities multiple times, which places them in conflict with her beliefs. If we were simply debating Germany or Britain, this would be an obvious choice." Taking the newspaper back, he began scribbling various shapes and numbers onto it. "However, this case is not quite as justifiable. She has no relation with the Austrian-Darwinists, barring their similar cultural perspectives or support of women's rights, and would find some of their methods of operation to be morally reprehensible. With you serving as a connection to the Austrian loyalists, she should be more motivated to fight for them, even if it indirectly delivers a blow to her country's cause."

"But, still, she's betraying the trust of the people taking her in! Besides, she knows that my granduncle tried to have me killed after my parents' death. Why would she want to fight for them?"

Volger remained silent, continuing to draw what now appeared to be a makeshift defense plan for the area around Vienna. Alek began to walk beside him, attempting to get a closer look at his sketches, but found himself oddly drawn to his facial expression. He seemed…lost, almost unsure of what to say next. Was he holding back something?

"Volger?" Alek asked. "Why would she want to aid the Republic of German-Austria, if she knows that they tried to kill me?"

Irritably, the wildcount put down his periodical. "Because, Your Serene Highness, she has no other choice at this point, does she?"

* * *

**Somewhere in Southern Austria**

**November 30****th****, 1916**

Deryn felt as lost as the time she had been cut off from her crew in Istanbul.

Mistakenly, she had been too focused on her last conversation with Alek to pay attention to the name of the location she had been dropped off at, or where she was supposed to meet these rebels, or – just about_ anything _important. Everything around her looked the same: due to the prior artillery bombardments around this area, _Graz_ according to the damaged road signs, the infrastructure was in shambles. Bricks and debris lay scattered around the exterior of the city, creating man-made hills and obstacles to traverse in an already hazardous area. She often wished someone would find her, before recanting her views upon hearing what may have been footsteps or falling rubble.

Staring down a long, two-way road, Deryn could make out the wreckage of fallen walkers and destroyed war machines left over from some prior battle. Ash blew around carelessly from the ground, making the already-smoggy city even less visible than before. Almost every building around – whether they appeared to be cramped townhouses, local businesses, or industrial plants – had been marred in some way, with many crumbled homes located around her current hiding spot.

Nervously, she peered her head out from behind the overturned wagon she had been using as cover. No one was around, giving her the confidence she needed to sprint out and run to an alley somewhere in the middle of the corridor. She leaned against the wall, caught her breath-

-Then looked over and saw several mangled, decaying corpses scattered around the alley.

Involuntarily yelping, Deryn covered her mouth and ran into a partially-destroyed bakery on the opposite side of the road. Her breathing was much less steady, her hands uncontrollably shaking. She had been hardened against seeing death during her time in the Air Service, but that was in the air, isolated from the carnage down below. It was easy to forget that death never manifested itself in an attractive manner, nor discerned soldier from civilian. She wondered if there were more bodies lying around the city, left to rot by the retreating Austrian Clankers…

After a minute or so, she had calmed down. Regaining her levelheadedness, she stepped out of the bakery, intending to head for the large clock tower she had seen on the way to here. Perhaps that was where the Austrian Darwinists intended to meet her?

The eerie silence of the city was getting to her. Aside from the rustling of the wind and occasional crunching noise that she thought was movement, there weren't any other sounds being made. Was this place really that dead? Was she alone in this once-great city?

Her questions were answered by the distinctive cocking of lever-action rifle.

Instinctively, she began to reach for her revolver, but instead raised her hands over her head in a surrendering manner. No need to start a gunfight this early into her time in Austria…

"Bitte alle Hände hoch!" a gruff voice called from her right side. "Nicht bewegen!" Deryn's uneven grasp on the German language indicated that he was telling her to put her hands up and not move.

Over to her right were five armed men and women, pointing their various weaponry at Deryn. They appeared to have no common uniforms: aside from a single black band on their right arms, they wore clothing ranging from aged military garb, to protective mining gear, and even winterized overcoats. In a similar manner, their weapons varied as well, from mid-19th century lever-action armaments to bulky rifles that she couldn't recognize.

One woman, wearing a disheveled blouse covered by some sort of white vest and a veil over her mouth and nose, motioned to her comrades and approached Deryn. Much like Deryn, she was wearing trousers, and appeared to be used to moving in men's clothing. Some sort of bird-like creature was perched on her gloved left wrist, making no visible movements as she ran up to Deryn.

Upon a closer look, the woman appeared to be no older than she was. From a hip holster, she drew a Mauser pistol and aimed it square at Deryn's chest with her free hand. "Alright, whoever you are, name and orders now." Her striking, accented voice was definitely not that of an Austrian's. It had a much more familiar tone to Deryn's Scottish ears, like an Irishwoman's or a member of her own minority's. But what was a citizen of the Empire doing around here?

"I'm Dylan Sharp," she curtly responded.

The woman lowered her pistol slowly. "Agent Sharp?" she asked. "From the Zoological Society of London?"

"Aye, that's right. Could you stop pointing your guns at me now?"

Her interrogator waved the other men over, who finally stopped aiming their weapons at Deryn. Behind them, some sort of dog-like creature followed, presumably obscured by them before. It certainly was an odd sight: almost like the two-mouthed, six-legged hydrogen sniffers aboard the _Leviathan_, but turned out…wrong. This fabrication had two heads, one below and to the right of its central head, and nine unusually-angled legs. Some of them appeared malformed and useless, while others had the edgy, spiked appearance of an insect's legs. Only one leg looked absolutely normal, right beside where its tail should have been. Its fur was uneven and anarchistic in design, with darker browns beginning near its head abruptly turning into light yellows near its back alongside some black areas.

"Fitzpatrick," she addressed the falcon-like bird fabrication on her hand, "give message to Anastasia: we have found the British agent, and are bringing him to the rendezvous point near the Schlossberg tunnels. Will wait on your command to meet with additional support. End message." The fabrication made a squawking noise and took off in the direction of the clock tower.

The woman took off her beret and pulled down her veil, revealing a freckled face and a head of short, auburn hair. Her lips were curved into a coy smile. "My name's Moira O'Donovan," she said. "Looks like we'll be working together from now on."


	7. Executive Privilege

**Hello, everyone! Due to the potential confusion that the next chapters could create, I figured that I should include an author's note. Normally, I don't like doing them, as I fear that they might break the immersion of the story, but I'll try to keep this short and to the point.**

**Starting with Chapter 7, the timeline is going to get very anarchistic for each individual chapter. By that, I mean that the dates will jump around quite a bit for each character's perspective, and there will be backtracking and fast-forwarding. For example: while Chapter 7 takes place a week after Deryn and Alek arrive in Austria, Chapter 8 will return to that exact same day and pick up where 6 left off. If you've ever read _Catch-22_ (which I would highly recommend, as it's a classic), time will flow similarly to that book, except with much more warning about time changes. ****The month/day/year logs at the beginning of each chapter will hopefully clarify the situation, but I know from experience that it can be easy to forget when a story takes place.**

**With all of that clarification out of the way, I present Chapter 7!**

* * *

Chapter 7

"Executive Privilege"

**Zoological Society of London, British Empire**

**December 7****th****, 1916**

In an unusual moment for London, it was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining brightly, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and the numerous puddles left over from the latest storm had finally evaporated away. The normally frigid air had its biting temperatures negated by the warmth of the sun, providing some form of heat in the soon-to-be winter season. Children were gallivanting around in the streets, venders had re-opened their wares, and couples wandered around aimlessly, all keen on enjoying the rare occasion. The only people who wouldn't take advantage of this opportunity were uninformed travelers and the workaholics of the Empire.

"Of course," Dr. Nora Barlow said to no one in particular, "this nice weather had to arrive on the same day as all this paperwork…"

Despite making a significant dent in the unsightly pile since Deryn and Alek's departure, more forms arrived to take the place of their filled-out brothers. Every time she left her office, more stacks of request forms, personal notes, or messages from the Admiralty would be placed onto her desk, often requiring her to respond in triplicate.

Her current strategy was to allot a certain number of paperwork per hour, holding onto a thin hope that the flow of documents would halt at some point, allowing her to finish off the remaining pieces on her own time. At its peak, the stack had reached the size of three of her college physics textbooks, and nearly spilled its contents all over her office from its instability. For the past week, she focused her concentration from directly overseeing the Zoological Society's affairs to trying to eliminate the stack that had built itself up during her pregnancy leave. Instinctively, her free hand went to her relatively flat stomach, remembering the birth of Andrew, her fourth child, three months back.

Her thoughts drifted to Alan, and his tireless quest to locate and preserve Chinese and Islamic works of art. Her husband often spent as much time away from home as she did, often leaving their children in the care of relatives or nannies. She wished she could spend more time with them, or him, but her duties in the Society constantly dragged her away. The last time she had seen Alan was less than two weeks after having Andrew, before his duties as a civil servant and her high-ranking responsibilities in the Society pulled them apart.

She longed to be back with her family, not stuck in a dusty office alone!

"Barking spiders," Bovril said to Barlow's own perspicacious loris, which responded in turn with, "_Mr. _Sharp."

Well, _technically_, she wasn't alone. If one considers "having two creatures of one's own design sitting on your desk and breaking your concentration" to be adequate company, then she wasn't alone.

Dr. Barlow carefully slipped a tightly-sealed envelope from under her loris. "Bovril, I know you miss Alek and Deryn," making sure to softly pronounce the last name and avoid potential detection, "but you know as well as I do that your perspicaciousness would endanger them during the mission. They need to be less noticeable, and your repeating of phrases would only risk drawing attention to them, or giving the wrong impression to the Austrians. It's for the best that you stay with me until they return."

"_If _she returns," her loris said, reciting a snatched comment from her private discussion with the wildcount before Alek and Deryn's entrance.

She didn't want to have to think about the alternative. If, God forbid, Deryn was found out or killed in a crossfire, it would not only stop her efforts to prevent another Darwinist-Clanker war from breaking out, but more importantly rob her of a close ally and friend. Alek would be devastated, and would be inconsolable for weeks. With so many other issues swirling around in her mind, she could not bear the enormous guilt from that outcome. "She will, believe me," Barlow replied, although she couldn't bring herself to look her loris in the eyes and say it.

Her gaze was fixed on the parents and children browsing the zoo beside the Society's headquarters. It was a rather ingenious idea of her grandfather's to build that: show children that fabrications are harmless, useful, and able to be tweaked to suit their needs, and they will gladly support Darwinism when they become of-age. Even if they actually get into the business of fabrication, and figure out that fabs can be quite harmful, unpredictable, and downright ghastly at times, they will have no other lifestyle choice but to support it. After all, British schoolchildren were taught at ten years of age that Clankers are monstrous savages whose machinery only serves to wipe out their foes. At least, that was how it was taught when she was growing up.

From what she had gathered from her grandfather's journals and documents, the zoo was built in a time of desperation, when the Society's public image was nearly ruined by birthing a fabrication where the public could see it, with all the blood and amniotic fluid that came about from it. He and his remaining supporters got to work housing their remaining fabrications in a child-friendly and seemingly-harmless zoo, demonstrating the efficiency of fabs in warfare to the Admiralty, and making the creation of fabs a more private affair. The sudden success of these reforms (and their previous efforts at conserving endangered animals) led to the Society receiving massive grants, giving them the funds necessary to build the headquarters she currently resided in.

Tired of procrastinating any longer, Barlow opened up the unmarked manila envelope left by Peter Mitchell earlier in the morning. A single handwritten note dropped out, reading,

"Dr. Barlow,

At four o'clock this afternoon, there will be a council meeting regarding several problems the Society wishes to discuss. They include:

1. The planned construction of a walker factory in Northern Scotland,

2. The Armenian situation in the Ottoman Empire, and what our stance on it will be,

3. The potential expansion of the zoo come next year,

4. And our decision regarding the shipment of fabricating materials and weapons to the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance (Please, for God's sake, don't veto this measure again!)

Everyone will be present, including the Duke of Bedford. I understand that you wish to catch up with as much of your paperwork as possible, but it is crucial that you take part in this meeting. We will need a full council to legitimately vote on these issues.

-P. Mitchell

P.S. - Tell the Kraut (you know who I am talking about) that his access to the fabricated weapons program will be suspended unless he cleans up his mess in the firing range."

"Ah, as expected," she said to herself, tossing both the envelope and its contents into an overfilled garbage bin beside her desk. "It would appear that my actions have garnered quite the negative response. Although I understand why some of the councilmen desire to see Austria reshaped in their image, they may not be aware of the possible crises that may erupt from such a shift in the balance of power."

Both of the lorises were focused on her, no doubt attempting to memorize and understand her statement. Barlow couldn't help but smile; it had been two years after their hatching, and yet their mental processes still fascinated her. "What are your thoughts?" she curiously asked them.

"This solid lump cannot be shaken," Bovril recited, "Storms, earthquakes, fire and flood assail the land and sea, yet firmly as before they stand!"

It was a rather uncommon moment to hear a full sentence from them. While they typically recited snippets of conversations, only in cases of relevance would they say the entire piece. It fit the question clearly, except for one minor detail: was Bovril referencing Austria, or some other subject? "An interesting observation, Bovril! But, what exactly are you referring to?"

However, Bovril ignored the doctor's question, instead joining her loris in an attempt to tear open a random letter. "In addition," she questioned further, aware of her gesture's futility, "where in the world did you hear passages from _Faust_?"

In one of those odd coincidences, one of her questions was answered by two figures walking into her office: her thylacine, Tazza, and Dr. Schmidt, the latter of whom was holding the former on a leash. Tazza enthusiastically ran to his master, and began nuzzling its nose against her extended hand.

"All done walking Tazza, Dr. Barlow," Schmidt informed her. "He wasn't much trouble at all, just had to keep him away from – hey, you have two of those things on your desk! I didn't know you owned both precarious lorises!"

"Perspicacious," her loris corrected, snickering along with Bovril.

Dr. Barlow happily began petting Tazza, as she made a habit of whenever he was finished a walk. "Technically, both are mine, but one has bonded with Aleksandar and Deryn. Seeing as how they develop faster when around their 'parents,' or whatever you might call them, I usually allow them to take care of it."

"…Huh. So, what do they even do, anyway?" Schmidt rubbed the two ridges between his eyes and his nose, his head dropping slightly and his cheeks tightening to suppress a yawn. Dr. Barlow's attention was driven to the dark circles underneath his eyes.

"The question you should be asking, doctor, is what they are _unable_ to do. They can observe details that often escape our view, learn numerous subjects merely through memorizing snippets of data…in a sense, they are the perfect advisors for men and women in power." She stepped over Tazza, grabbing ahold of the pulley on her curtains and allowing more natural light in. Schmidt winced, and shielded his tired eyes from the sudden burst of sunlight. "Just to give you some warning, my compatriots intend to suspend your research on fabricated weaponry unless you clean up the aftermath of your test with Mr. Sharp."

Instead of a perky and typical, "right away, Dr. Barlow!" or "consider it done," Schmidt groaned. "They're still hung-up on that? What are they worried about; I killed all of the bees! I just had to burn a bit of the firing range to do it! Sure, maybe I charred the vast majority of the equipment there while using an unstable fabricated flamethrower. Either way, I did my job."

"Yes, but some of us-" she accentuated her coming point by dumping five spam letters into the bin, "-have much more paperwork to do then you right now. Therefore, it's only just that you file the requisition forms for the sandbags, collapsible tables, and wooden cutouts."

"Fine, I'll get to it. But, before I go, are they going to let me vote this time?"

"Unfortunately," Dr. Barlow said, simultaneously attempting to keep Tazza's head out of her garbage bin, "you will only be an observing member until a majority of the council trusts you, and votes to grant you that privilege."

Schmidt looked back, unease almost emanating from him, as if he were preparing to say something. However, after a minute of shuffling his feet nervously, his thoughts never materialized, and left Dr. Barlow's office without a word. It was clear that something was troubling him, possibly relating to his poor reception into the Society.

"Poor fool," Bovril commented to the remaining company in the room.

"I concur," she said back. "Perhaps I should have a talk with him after the meeting…"

The two lorises scurried around her desk, making an even greater mess of the unorganized documents she was supposed to look over. Rather than reorganize it once more, she impatiently grabbed ahold of them, placing both on her shoulders for easier travel. "Come along, Tazza," she commanded her loyal thylacine, and the four headed off to the Council.

* * *

The Zoological Society Council was as it always was: a roundtable of fourteen men and one woman, seated in delicately-carved wooden chairs and feeling like the world was theirs to mold, if only for the meeting's duration. The Duke of Bedford, who also possessed the honorary title of president, sat in the largest and most "regal" of the chairs, while Dr. Barlow and Peter Mitchell flanked his left and right side, respectively. Peter's job was to write and record the minutes of each meeting, while Dr. Barlow presided over decisions related to international affairs. Fitting with his title, the Duke of Bedford was there as a figurehead, someone with no actual power in the Society but the good looks and clear voice to emulate that to the public.

Positioned in front of every person was an ashtray and a china plate, intended to dispose of waste from both smoked tobacco and chewing tobacco.

"Speaking of tobacco," Dr. Barlow muttered to her lorises, "we really need to open a window soon." An aura of smoke seemed to hang over the room, causing her and a few other councilmen to experience the occasional coughing fit. Although this nicotine-laced fog wasn't thick enough to obscure one's view, it had grayed out the room's _feng shui_, as she had taken to calling decorating after her husband's visit to China.

On her right, Peter counted off each member, making sure to not include Schmidt. "Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen. I believe that's everyone. Shall we begin, your grace?"

"Certainly, Sir Mitchell. But, first…" The Duke coughed away a stray cloud of smoke, then leaned back and opened the window behind him, allowing some fresh oxygen to dilute the stale air of the room. "Much better," he said, displaying his usual, confident smile.

"Gentlemen," he began, aware of Dr. Barlow's presence but not willing to draw unnecessary attention to her, "this past year has been marked by the unparalleled growth of the Zoological Society. Since the defeat of the Clankers and the Central Powers, we have expanded this glorious organization and pursued new frontiers of science. Last month alone, we fulfilled over two dozen contracts with the British Empire and other Darwinist powers, and have sent our agents to every region of the globe to promote our interests. Most importantly, during this time of unending development, we have kept true to our humble roots, and installed a monument of the great Darwin himself in front of our headquarters. To say we have succeeded in surpassing the Clankers' technology is an understatement; we have raised the bar so high that it will take them decades to catch up with us!"

Several zealous councilmen clapped vigorously at the Duke's opening. Barlow remained expressionless, although she did offer a slow round of applause for his bold remarks. Bovril and her loris fidgeted around on her shoulders, no doubt running their mental algorithms to understand what was said. The weight on her shoulders reminded her of an odd fact: nearly everyone in the room had some sort of self-made fabrication with them, excluding the two leading members to her right.

When the clapping had ceased, the Duke cleared his throat and continued. "However, this newfound power comes with a responsibility to the world, as there is still much unrest to combat. It is in our duty as Britishmen to exert our influence to improve states around the globe."

"Take up the white man's burden," Dr. Barlow mused.

"As it is with every month, we will vote on our stances on several key issues plaguing England, Europe, and the world as a whole. The first issue, while minor, is a threat to our control over agricultural production and construction on the Isles. I am, of course, referring to the planned walker factory in Scotland."

Much of the Council hissed and booed at the news, with some giving cries of, "Damn Clankers!" No doubt, Schmidt was shifting around uncomfortably with every indirect insult.

"However, this must be handled delicately. By attempting to completely push all Clanker influence out of Scotland, we risk creating sympathy for them or causing them to strike in return. Therefore, I would like to hear your suggestions as to how we cope with the dilemma."

Dr. Barlow vaguely wondered how the Council would react to her purchase of the wrist communicator from the Clanker black market two weeks back. No doubt they would call her a traitor, and vote to bar her from further meetings until she redeemed herself in their eyes. With her support of a Clanker regime in Europe and now her curiosity regarding Clanker communication methods, she got the feeling that her grandfather would be rolling in his grave.

"We could always deport them!" an indistinguishable voice shouted from the opposite side of the table. An uproar of laughter and sympathy emerged from most of the councilmen, engulfing the meeting for an entire minute before quieting down.

"Now, now," said the Duke of Bedford, "the last thing we need is to eliminate an influential minority. The Fokker Company invested a great deal of capital in this venture, and I would imagine that would result in a dozen lawsuits pushed in our direction. Even with our good standing with the Crown, they would not look at us favorably for squandering the rights of others. Any other thoughts?"

Dr. Jafari (or, as she knew him, "that bearded fellow with the bird"), rose his hand. "We could always price our fabrication contracts lower than their walkers cost," he suggested. "That is, if we aren't going to share the market with them."

The Duke paused, probably considering the consequences and benefits of that sort of action. "Could we sustain that sort of pricing long enough to run them out of business and not hurt our integrity in the process?"

Peter, who had been scribbling down monetary calculations on his stationery, slid his notes over to the Duke. "If we hold our prices steadily low for four months or so," he told him, "then Fokker may have to pull out and look to build elsewhere. They've been hurting since the Great War ended in our favor, and lack the investments and stability to compete with us. We should not discount the idea of them trying to stick around longer, but we can afford to have losses. The same does not go for them."

The Duke handed Peter's notes back, evidently pleased by their new course of action. "A show of hands for the implementation of Dr. Jafari's idea?" he asked. Almost everyone raised their hands in support, with only one member abstaining.

"Well then, it seems that we will aggressively market our low-priced fabs to the Scottish farmers and transportation managers. Excellent suggestion, doctor!" His cheery disposition dropped, as any news regarding their next topic would do to a man. "Now, onto the second matter..."

"My friends, the conditions for Armenian Christians in the Ottoman Empire have gotten more and more grim. Shocking reports keep coming out, depicting entire families and communities gunned down or marched into the desert to die."

Dr. Barlow felt something bump into her left leg several times. Sitting beside her, Schmidt was breathing heavily and shaking, unsuccessfully trying to keep himself calm. If there was any indication that he needed someone to talk to, this was it.

The Duke continued his elaboration. "It would seem that the Ottoman Empire wishes to exterminate an entire race, an entire culture in fact. Although they are technically a Clanker power, their defection from the Central Powers proved crucial for keeping Russia supplied with food and denying Germany easy access to the Mediterranean Sea. As decent men, we cannot ignore such savagery against innocent people. What will we do to impede on their killings?"

Silence filled the room, pervading every corner until it seemed to choke the life out of the discussion. The harsh reality of the "Armenian problem" reminded the councilmen that lives were at stake, and their decisions could easily save one person as they could kill another.

"To me," Dr. Barlow spoke up, "the problem is that these massacres will continue as long as the Committee of Union and Progress holds power over the Ottoman Empire. What we should do is use at least a dozen agents to instigate a revolution and overthrow them. As I understand, the Committee's focus on wiping out the Armenians has cost them a great deal of support among their people, not to mention damaging their economy in the process. I know a man, T.E. Lawrence to be exact. He understands the languages and customs of the region better than anyone else, and could prove to be a valuable asset in our subterfuge."

The members of the council began discussing it among each other, keeping their tones relatively hushed. Schmidt appeared to be less on-edge now, although her concern for his mental well-being had not been reduced in the slightest.

"That is a possibility," the Duke responded, "but how would we plant these agents into the country in the first place? The Ottoman Empire has been rather isolated since the Great War, and any minor slip-ups on our operatives' parts would expose us as the source of the troubles!"

"If we get their people to fight, then our involvement will be much easier to downplay." Hoping to take advantage of their pride, she added, "after all, winners write the history books, do they not? We just won the largest war ever fought in the history of mankind; I doubt that the "Dying Man of Europe" will be able to pose a threat to us if they find out."

More and more councilmen were nodding their heads in approval. "Any more suggestions?" the Duke asked, to which no one else responded. "Very well. All in favor of Dr. Barlow's proposition, raise your hands."

Around ten people raised their hands, including Dr. Barlow herself. Despite not garnering the absolute response from the prior suggestion, the majority of the council was in favor of the action. "Well now, unless someone else has something to say on the matter, we will move on." As she expected, no one spoke out against it.

"This isn't as much of a voting matter as it is an update on our progress. Keeping with our hearts and minds campaign, the London Zoo will continue to be operated by the Society. Plans for expansion are going along smoothly, and the additions of the new tigeresque and 'Darwinism around the world' exhibits will be completed by March of next year. Financially, we will be able to afford these additions with plenty of reserve funding to spare. The revenue from the zoo should be more than enough to compensate for any losses we experience from undercharging for fabrications in Scotland."

"And now, the hard part," Dr. Barlow whispered to Tazza.

Content with the air quality, or perhaps keeping the final subject matter in mind, the Duke closed the window. "Our final topic for this meeting will be the Austrian Civil War. We all know the situation there: Darwinists are being oppressed there by a bigoted Clanker regime, and the two sides have come to blows. The country has been divided nearly in half by the conflict, and the rebels have gained significant ground. Their leader, Ms. Anastasia Gottschalk, has contacted us about potentially sending aid over to them, whether it would be weaponry, or medical supplies, or even food and potable water."

"It is our right as fellow Darwinists to aid them in any way we can. I propose that, beginning next year, we work with the Swiss arms smugglers to send supply crates their way. If the Republic of German-Austria is toppled and replaced by a Darwinist government, only Germany will be able to pose a threat to us in the future. Imagine: a continent's economy and culture composed entirely of Darwinistic features!"

While most of the councilmen cheered, Dr. Barlow felt a knot in her stomach. The idea of wiping out an entire way of life and holding a monopoly over Europe didn't sit well with her, especially now that she personally knew Clankers and understood that they didn't have to be enemies. Schmidt was still silent, but she had a feeling that the Duke's words were not received favorably by him.

"All in favor of this measure, raise your hands!"

A total of nine members raised their hands in favor of the initiative, outnumbering the small contingent of councilmen Dr. Barlow managed to win over before the meeting. The Duke seemed pleased at the response. "Well, if no one objects-"

"-I veto this measure," Dr. Barlow declared to the council. In that instant, cries of protest and indignation shot out from every area of the room.

"This is ridiculous!" one voice shouted from the ruckus. "What gives you the right to shut down the voices of fifteen other people?"

"As a Darwin, I have the right to veto decisions that could be considered detrimental to our progress," she reminded them. This ace-in-the-hole was established by Darwin in his last days, to ensure that his descendants would never be robbed of their influence on his organization. Thanks to some vague wording and guilt-tripping, it was passed in an 8-7 vote. Due to an oversight in the writing of the passage, there was no way to overrule a veto unless fourth-fifths of the Council voted against it, giving any future Darwins even more influence than Charles had intended.

"The Council acknowledges your veto," the Duke reluctantly said. "And, with that, we will undercut our prices in Scotland to weaken walker sales there, and train our agents to plot a revolution in the Ottoman Empire. No action will be taken regarding Austria, for now." He got out of his chair, carefully pushing back into place. "The meeting has concluded, and you all are dismissed."

On the way out, many members of the Council grumbled and complained about Dr. Barlow's veto power. Trying to feign a lack of surprise as always, she brushed any tobacco dust off her coat, and shook her bowler hat out once for good measure. She had accomplished what she needed to, and bought Deryn and Alek more time. By all means, she should feel good about herself, but felt concerned about the growing resentment of her role in the Council.

Schmidt was still there, sitting silently with his head hung low. The troubles in the Ottoman Empire had clearly brought back some bad memories for him, but she believed that there was more to his unkempt appearance and visible lack of sleep than that. Casually, she tapped her protégé on the shoulder to get his attention.

"You and I need to talk," she told him, starting to walk out the door. With a nod, he got out of his chair and followed in her footsteps.

* * *

**A few more notes: Bovril's quote about the "solid lump" comes from _Faust. _It's a German tragedy by Johann Goethe about a man who sells his soul to the Devil. The Duke of Bedford, Herbrand Russell, really was the honorary president of the Zoological Society during the events of the _Leviathan_ series, just as Peter Mitchell was its secretary. **

**The "Armenian problem" refers to the Armenian Genocide, a series of massacres committed by the Turkish government (specifically, the Committee of Union and Progress) in order to eliminate the Armenian minority in the region. It's considered to be the first genocide ever perpetrated, and is believed to have served as a model for Nazi Germany's Holocaust. It's a horrific matter to research, to say the least.**

**The business of vetoing decisions made by the Zoological Society's Council seems nonexistent according to the books I've read, but then again, they weren't an intelligence agency as described in the books. Therefore, some stretching of real-world events is feasible. Lastly, I******** think T.E. Lawrence (or, as he's better known, Lawrence of Arabia) needs no additional introduction or explanation. **

**As always, feel free to leave your thoughts in the review box below.**


	8. Field Test

Chapter 8

"Field Test"

**Graz, Southern Austria**

**November 30****th****, 1916**

"Fitzpatrick will be back any moment now. He isn't the foostering type, I promise."

That was the fourth time Moira had given Deryn that same claim, despite their wait well approaching around two hours. They, along with the other rebels, had been camped out near a destroyed warehouse of some sort, awaiting some idea as to what Anastasia wanted with Deryn. She didn't know what was taking so long, or why they didn't just meet with her in person, or even what "foostering" meant.

"Are you sure it didn't get lost?" Deryn asked, drawing on her own unfortunate experience with a Huxley ascender. "Beasties can be a bit tricky when the weather gets rough."

"No, he didn't get lost, I'm sure of it. Fitzpatrick probably just had to wait for her to have time to give a message back, or something like that."

The genders of fabrications was a tricky business. Most were created in a "neuter" state to prevent pregnancies that would otherwise hamper their efficiency. This wasn't a particularly well-known fact for the average person, and the presence of assigned genders for certain "breeder" fabs led to even more confusion.

All this thinking about fabrications was making her a bit curious. She knew that the Austrian Darwinists made unique fabs for their insurgency, but had no idea what purposes they served. "So, what sort of beastie is it, anyway? A bigger carrier pigeon or something?"

"_He_," Moira responded, "is a chickenhawk. It's sort of like one of those message lizards, but they're able to fly and hold onto statements longer. Not sure why they're given that name, though, seeing as how they aren't made from chicken or hawk life chains."

Deryn never quite understood why some people gave their fabs names. The whole point of one as to be used as a tool by their masters, and nothing more. Naming one would be like giving a name to a machine gun, or a shovel, or something like that.

"Although," she thought to herself, "with the way Alek and I handled Bovril, I don't really have room to talk." Instantly, the memory of Alek leaving her behind aboard the _Leviathan_ came back, filling her with a mix of resentment and sorrow. It wasn't her fault that she found Clankers to be easier targets than Darwinists, especially since she was raised a Darwinist! How would Alek have liked it if he had to fight his own people –

"Oh, right," she muttered. He _had _fought against Germans and Austrians for much of these past two years, and practically switched sides to try to end the war. She began to wonder how he was holding up, surrounded by people who had tried to hunt him down before.

"Hm? What'd you say, Dylan?" Apparently, her muttering hadn't been very quiet.

"Sorry!" she said back, trying to make herself seem less glum than she felt. "I said, 'oh, right!'" Moira's unveiled face still showed some confusion, forcing her to think on her feet to explain herself. "I remember learning about those in the…debriefings that I went to. But, aren't you not supposed to name beasties like that one? Doesn't it make them want to work with other people less?"

Unknowingly, she had struck a nerve with Moira, who now seemed more frustrated with her attitude than confused. "No, it doesn't – and I'd really appreciate it if you'd quit talking about Fitzpatrick like he's some brainless animal! He's my friend, not some mindless tool I take advantage of!"

"Clart, sorry about that," Deryn said, hoping to not frustrate her any further. The last thing she needed was to get on the bad side of her new "allies" this early. "I wasn't trying to put him down, it's just a wee bit of a habit."

At this, she seemed to relent a bit. "It's fine. You're probably just used to the way the Society handles beasties, I guess." One of the rebels got her attention, and pointed a blurry figure in the distant, hazy sky. "He's back," Moira announced to the other rebels, who gathered around her and Deryn in anticipation.

Deryn could make out the bird-like shape of what she assumed was Fitzpatrick, but it appeared to be carrying some bulky object in its talons. It couldn't have been that heavy if it was flying without issue, but it seemed unusually-shaped for a package. The closer it drew, the more detail she could see, and the object looked more and more organic with each flap of the chickenhawk's wings. It almost seemed like it was trying to move, at least from her point of view.

Eventually, when he was directly overhead, Fitzpatrick unexpectedly let go of his cargo, dropping it into the arms of Deryn. She briefly recoiled in shock at the black and red…thing…squirming around in her grasp, but regained her nerve and took a closer look at it.

Whatever it was, it had the features of an insect, and had a dark grey body with a red-ringed neck. Its eight thin legs gripped onto her arms, balancing itself and giving her a view of its narrow mouth. Near its compound eyes were two large pincers, although they looked too dull to be of any use in fighting. Peculiarly enough, its torso seemed to glow a yellowish light at random times. Even stranger was its size, which probably exceeded a foot long and around four inches long or so.

"Really, Fitzpatrick? Was it necessary to scare the living daylights out of Dylan?" Moira asked him, using a light-hearted and jovial tone. Fitzpatrick perched himself onto Moira's gloved hand. "Alright, let's see what's next. Replay last message."

The chickenhawk released a couple of cries, steadied itself, and began speaking. "Moira," it said in a raspy, feminine voice, "this is Anastasia. I will be happy to receive Agent Sharp, as soon as he proves his worth and trustworthiness to our cause. You know how desperate the Clankers are to slip one of their spies into our ranks…"

Deryn felt a little more than worried from that last remark. Had she already been figured out this early? If so, where did she go wrong?

"This is also why I had your friend carry one of the Disruptors from the latest batch. I need to be sure they'll work as well as the previously hatched ones, and I don't want to risk botching up an assault with faulty weapons."

The fab in Deryn's arms – the "Disruptor", or whatever she called it – chirped and hummed with contentment. "It looks pretty harmless to me," Deryn thought. "This is supposed to be some sort of weapon?"

"There are two walkers that have been patrolling around your area. Not much of a serious threat, just two of the Tyrant class. Nonetheless, I can't have them stomping around and possibly finding one of our safehouses. I need your team to disable or destroy them both."

Well, that explained the occasional loud "bang" in the distance. She had just chalked it up to gunfire or explosions, not some walker patrol. Internally, she was relieved that they hadn't found her; even with her connection with the Austrian loyalists and wrist communicator, wearing a British Air Service in the middle of a former battleground would be more than a bit suspicious. She regretted wearing the uniform now, especially since its clean, white colors stood out compared to the dulled coloring of the rebels' clothes. She was practically a walking target!

"Once that's done, you can escort him to our base of operations in Innsbruck, where I'll meet him in person and discuss-"

"Anastasia," another voice cut in, "here are the photographs of the airfield you wanted." The other person was male, with a low accent that sounded similar to Tesla's. "Oh, sorry, wasn't aware you were recording something. Should I come back later?"

"Yes, please, Adrian. Not now. Just – one moment." Some movement could be heard in the background, and Anastasia's voice dropped to a whisper. Even when Deryn put her ear closer to Fitzpatrick, she couldn't hear anything distinct from it. Snippets of this other person's voice were also audible, but once again were too quiet to be heard.

"-And, like I said…" Anastasia's voice regained its prior volume, although she sounded a bit further away from the chickenhawk than before. "…This has to be done quietly. No witnesses whatsoever, do you understand?"

The door closed, or at least sounded as if it had been closed. "As I said," Anastasia continued as though the interruption never happened, "once your objectives are complete, we will discuss your role in the Austrian-Darwinist Alliance in person. Do not disappoint me." With that, the recording stopped.

The entire mission seemed vague to Deryn. They had never been given a clear idea of where these walkers were, only that they were "in their area." How did she expect six people and two small beasties to take down two walkers? Everything she knew about Clanker vehicles was that they were heavily-armored, and none of them seemed to have any heavy weapons or explosives meant to combat them. What was Anastasia thinking?

In contrast to Deryn's nervous, unsure thoughts, Moira looked fairly confident about the recording's objectives. "Seems simple enough," she said, "we'll just get to higher ground and wait for them to pass by. Then…" she clapped her hands together, "we hit 'em where they don't expect it!"

She still wasn't convinced. "How are we supposed to destroy one walker, let alone two? If they can shrug off mortars and grenades, how can we do anything to them with only a few rifles and two beasties?"

Moira directed the other rebels with her hands, moving them to several different spots around the street. "You're about to find out," she said, displaying her coy smile again before pulling up her veil. She impatiently threw a dusty cloak off the ground over Deryn's shoulder. "Put this on; it'll make you stand out a lot less. Follow me up the ladder inside the warehouse. It'll be a better vantage point than standing around here like a couple of dossers."

With no other choice, Deryn put her trust in Moira and ran after her, carrying the insectesque creature in her arms.

* * *

Deryn had spent an hour laying prone atop the warehouse's rusty, partially-destroyed roof before any sight of the two walkers.

Across the street, on the third floor of some sort of tenement, the larger Russian-looking rebel began giving hand signals to her and Moira, roughly saying, "Walker approach position. Five minutes walking distance. Not aware of us."

"So, about these walkers…" Deryn asked.

"What about them?"

"Well, you know I've fought quite a few of them, and seen even more. But I've never heard of the 'Tyrant class' kind until now. What're they like?"

Moira lowered her binoculars, blinking a few times to get rid of the dryness in her eyes. "From what Anastasia told me, the Tyrant Walker was the cheaper, easier to build alternative to the Cyklop Stormwalker. I think they're faster and easier to control, but lightly-armed, not well-armored, or useful against heavier beasties." She quickly went back to looking through the binoculars, scanning for any signs of the incoming patrol. "When the A.D.A. was just a labor union, their strikes really messed with the production of Stormwalkers, forcing the Austrian government to build these while trying to work out their problems with the Darwinists. By the time the war rolled around, they were forced to deploy more of them than the heavier, more powerful Stormwalkers, which caused a whole world of issues when they tried to invade Serbia."

Moira's explanation reminded her of the time Alek had used his Stormwalker to defend the Leviathan and its crew from a German assault team back in the Alps. If what she said was true, then he was pretty lucky to have gotten his hands on one. Then again, he was a barking prince, so it probably wasn't as hard to get.

"Get ready, Dylan!" Moira hissed. "They're on their way!"

True to her word, the staccato clanking noise of a moving walker became louder and louder, advancing quicker than she remembered the German or Ottoman models could. Slowly, she peaked her head over the roof to get a glimpse of the two.

The two Tyrant Walkers looked sleek and mobile, in contrast to the massive, bulky appearance shared by even the smallest of Clanker vehicles. They had octagonal hulls with small window slits on each side, held up by four legs that were connected to the vehicles' undersides. Four MG08 Spandau's protruded from the lower curves of the hull, each spaced out evenly with one side in-between. On its partially-curved top, multiple exhaust pipes spewed out white steam with every step, and an escape hatch in the center remained sealed shut. Both had a dark-gray color scheme, similar to the uniforms of the Austrians that had boarded the _Leviathan_.

"Moira, they're moving fast!" she said. Beside her, the insect fab resumed its chirping at the sound of the Tyrants walking.

"I know, I know," Moira said back. "Quickly, get ahold of the Disruptor and face him towards the front Walker!" She did as she was told. "Now, reach into its mouth and pull its tongue out!"

"Wait, what?"

"Do it! We're running out of time!"

Reluctantly, Deryn moved her left hand between the beastie's pincers, and forced her thumb and index finger into its mouth. Feeling around the sticky saliva, she pulled a long, leathery muscle that she assumed was its tongue. Its chirps became much more rapid, and it seemed to be crying out in protest now.

"Okay, good. Now, move it underneath its body, loop it around your finger, and pull back hard. Be sure to take aim first, or we'll lose the element of surprise!"

Having done everything Moira said to prepare, Deryn pointed its mouth at the front walker, pulled its tongue back sharply-

-And a bolt of electricity shot out from within the fab, striking the Tyrant Walker and momentarily stunning it. It lost its footing, nearly tipping over from the sudden disruption and colliding with the walker in back.

"Blisters!" she cried. She had never seen any sort of beastie pull off a stunt like that, even during her time at the Zoological Society!

"Come on, Dylan, keep firing at them! They're going to figure out where we are!"

Wasting no time, Deryn aimed at the back walker and released another bolt, briefly disabling it and causing it to miss a step with its side feet. It pushed its front foot forward, trying to hold steady with the front and back legs, until another bolt from Deryn caused it to push too far and overload its knee pressure. With a metallic groan, it fell to the ground, damaging the side of its hull in addition to its remaining legs.

The other Tyrant became aware of the situation, and two of its machine guns opened fire on her, Moira, and some of the other nearby buildings. Deryn ducked down and rolled to the left, as the heavy-caliber MG rounds punched through the walls and the roof as though they were made of cardboard. Moira crawled backwards, trying to hold onto Fitzpatrick and her binoculars at the same time.

When she had gotten far enough from her original spot, Deyrn quickly lurched out of her blind spot and electrocuted the remaining walker several times. However, the bursts from the machine guns continued, and moved to target her new position.

She felt a hand grab ahold of her leg, and was pulled further back towards the center of the roof. Turning to face Moira, she yelled, "What am I supposed to do? It's not moving!"

"Just keep firing!" Moira shouted over the gunfire. "Try to short out its electrikals! You should be able to knock it out of commission that way!"

The Tyrant stomped closer and closer to their position. Oddly, its guns had gone silent. Deryn leaned off the edge once more in search of the walker. This time, it was out of sight, except for the imprints from its metallic feet, which had created a trail alongside the road, onto the rubble where they had been hiding…and directly into the warehouse.

"Moira," she whispered, "it's underneath us."

The quad-MG's of the Tyrant erupted in another cacophony of automatic gunfire, puncturing the rusty sheet metal of the roof directly and tearing it apart in search of them. From a small hole, Deryn could see that the walker had tilted its hull towards the ceiling, spraying its front and side guns at the unseen intruders.

Several bullets shot close to her position, making her scramble away and crawl to the right side with Moira and Fitzpatrick.

"Dylan!" Moira shouted, pulling up a loose sheet from the roof, "we're running out of time! Try shooting through this gap!"

She carefully shoved the beastie through, now aiming for the Spandau MG on the right side. With a hard squeeze, she shot two bolts at it, igniting the ammunition box on its left side. An explosion rocked the Tyrant, blowing a moderately-sized hole in the walker's hull. Inside, several Austrian gunners pulled their injured comrade from the opening. With the same ruthless efficiency they had shown to her, Deryn hit two of them with the Disruptor's electricity, dropping them to the ground while the third jumped out of sight.

The Tyrant began moving once more, this time towards the warehouse's exit. "You're not getting away that easily!" she cried, shocking the other exposed machine guns and damaging the walker's hull even further. Badly damaged and partially unbalanced from the prior missteps, the Tyrant began to limp as fast as it could to cover, before a well-placed bolt overturned onto the concrete with a satisfying thud.

With both walkers out of commission, it was over. The rebels came out of hiding, pulling any surviving Austrians out of the wreckage and dragging them onto their feet. Moira breathed a sigh of relief and patted Deryn on the shoulder, clearly happy to have survived the ordeal.

"Looks like I owe you one, Dylan," she said.

Deryn weakly laughed, her heart still racing from the intensity of the firefight. "I'm guessing that makes me an official member of the A.D.A.?"

"If that doesn't make you one of us, nothing will." Slowly, she and Moira walked along the edges of the roof, avoiding its unstable and bullet-ridden center. "Let's climb back down and help round up these prisoners. Then, you can finally meet Ms. Gottschalk herself!"

Before descending back to the ground, Deryn loosened her finger out from the beastie's tongue and pushed it back into its mouth. At this point, she was quite eager to meet the rebels' leader, even if she was supposed to be her enemy. She had seen the photos, but it was easier to put a face to a name in-person.

On the last rung, Deryn's wrist bumped into the ladder's protective enclosure, creating a metallic pang that reverberated through the structure. Moira paid it no attention to it as she walked towards the wreckage, but it brought Deryn's thoughts back to an important matter: she had thought of no explanation or justification for the Clanker communicator she would need to talk with the Austrian loyalists. What was going to happen if someone asked her about it?

"Get a move on, Dylan! We're going to have a long walk ahead of us, and I don't want to dilly-dally any more than necessary!"

She'd be able to lie her way out of the problem. After all, she had spent a year fooling the Admiralty and another fooling most of the Zoological Society into thinking she was a boy. How hard could it be to act like a Darwinist, especially when she was usually one to begin with?


End file.
